A different life
by onmyside
Summary: They did not always consider going into service. Their lives could have been totally different, yet at one point they made the same choice. A backstory for Elsie Hughes and Charles Carson. AU!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N This fanfiction is my nanowrimo project. It is the first time I participate and somehow I started to write a Downton Abbey AU - this is the backstory for Elsie Hughes and Charles Carson. It will be update every other day and might turn into a very long fanfiction. So far this has nothing to do with Downton Abbey. The names are the same - everything else isn't. Maybe I will take it down again after a while or if I feel that I cannot continue it.**

Enjoy reading anyway.

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She could not remember ever waking up when the sun was already up. It had always been dark outside when she had opened her eyes in the morning. The room had always been invisible, hidden underneath a thick, black blanket that was the early morning or the late night. It did not matter what name she gave the surrounding darkness. She hated it all the same. Her eyes slowly adjusted and she could make out the outline of her sister's bed, their small wardrobe, desk and chair. Everything in this room had also always been the same for as long as she could remember. Nothing ever changed.

She could see her sister, lying on her side, the blanket half on the floor, half covering her small body. Anne could sleep a bit longer because she was the younger one. Elizabeth envied her for that. It was not fair. She took her pillow and hid her head underneath it. More darkness, this time a suffocating one. She did not want to get up especially not today when they would start with the wheat harvest. She dreaded this time of the year. Hard work, long hours on the fields, no breaks and at the end of the day her whole body would ache and her hands covered in calluses.

If she pretended to be ill maybe her mother would let her stay in bed today. Could she fake a fever? Or a sore throat? Elizabeth closed her eyes again, tried to forget that it was already morning and was soon drifting back to sleep.

She awoke when a cold hand hit her warm cheek with such force that she momentarily saw stars in front of her eyes.

"Get up now!" His voice was thick with anger and something else. Hate and frustration, Elizabeth thought, like always, because I am a girl and not the son he had always wanted. She immediately sat up in her bed and almost touched the throbbing cheek before she remembered that acknowledging the pain would lead to another blow. "Hurry up!" He yelled at her before he left the room and slammed the door shut.

The darkness conquered their room again and hid her silent tears. For a while she sat on the edge of her bed trying to stop the tears. She had to be a strong girl. Her mother had told her that on numerous occasions, had stroked her now red and aching cheek, softly kissed it and smiled at her.

=o=

At five in the morning she was out in the stables, taking care of their five cows: milking them, clearing away the dung, providing them with fresh hay. When it was time for her breakfast, Elizabeth was already exhausted, her dress dirty and her hands looked like that of an old woman, not a twelve year old. Her cheek still hurt and she was sure that her mother could see the handprint her father had left on the sensitive skin. But they were all used to it by now and did not talk about his behaviour any more. Other families had the same problems her mother always said with that indifferent tone in her voice followed by a put on smile. They could call themselves lucky that their farm was big enough to provide for the family and that they were respected in the village and not tenant farmers anymore. It was their land her mother emphasized whenever Elizabeth complained about the hard work.

She took a seat at her end of the old table, next to her sister who had already finished half of her porridge. There was no time to relax. As soon as breakfast was over, she had to change into fresh clothes and walk to school. So she ate fast but not greedily, her back straight, like her mother had taught her. Out of the corner of her eyes she looked at her father, sitting there at the head of the table, scrutinizing them, a cup of tea in his big hands. She could feel his stare, knew what he was thinking: that she had been lazy this morning, not worked hard enough and would later need a reminder of who was in charge in this house. The thought of it made her hold her back even straighter, keep her hands next to her now empty bowl and wait for her mother to allow her to stand up and leave the kitchen.

Margaret Hughes was a woman of 35 with dark brown hair, a slim figure and kind hazel brown eyes. Elizabeth loved her mother dearly and thought she was the most beautiful woman in their small village. The years on the farm, the hard work and the long working hours had aged her though. There were wrinkles and dark circles around her eyes and her hands were rough from years of farm work. But she was a kind and patient person so different to her father who Elizabeth only knew as the stern, demanding man who never smiled.

"Go and change for school, Els." Her mother took away the empty bowl and Elizabeth stood up, walked past her father, curtseyed in front of him and muttered a short and almost inaudible "Good Morning." She waited for him to nod his approval before she hurriedly left the kitchen to go back to their bedroom to change.

=o=

Anne always lingered when they walked to school. Constantly, Elizabeth had to remind her that they would be late and be punished in front of the class. Still, Anne could not care less. She always found something that distracted her. This morning it was a little white butterfly, rather late for this time of year that accompanied them on their thirty minute walk.

"Just look at it Els! It's so beautiful!" She picked up a flower and held it up above her head. "Maybe it will sit down and I can carry it with me to school."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "Anne, it won't sit down. It's a butterfly." She took her little sister's hand and dragged her along and fortunately, Anne forgot about the small insect and hurried up a bit.

"We cannot be late. We were the last time and do you remember what had happened then?" She tried to make a very serious face to emphasize her next words. "We were made to stand in the corner and think about our mistakes. I don't want to do that again."

Anne looked at the ground, shuffling her feet on the dusty path. "I know. I am sorry Els."

"It won't happen again but only if you walk a bit faster from now on. Alright?"

Anne nodded and tried to keep pace with her sister for the rest of the way.

Elizabeth never let go of her sister's hand and from time to time she pointed out a special flower or tree that grew by the wayside to cheer the younger girl up a bit. By the time they approached the small red brick building that served as the town's school house they were fifteen minutes too early. Elizabeth's little game had served its purpose. She pushed the large door open and let her sister enter the building in front of her. Anne ran along the corridor towards the last door on the left, their classroom, whereas Elizabeth closed the door behind her quietly and slowly followed the young girl.

School was something she really liked and every morning she took the time to first inhale the peculiar smell the building evaporated. A mixture of charcoal fires, chalk dust and dried ink. So different compared to the awful stench of the stables in the early morning. For Elizabeth school smelled like a lady's fancy perfume. And she was grateful that she was allowed to go to school, to experience all of this. Not all the girls in their village had the privilege to visit the local school. Some where schooled at home but the majority could hardly write their own name. Her mother had had a lengthy discussion with her father; Elizabeth could still remember it although she could not have been more than five or six years old. Her father wanted to educate them at home. Reading and writing maybe teaching some mathematics was enough in his eyes. Margaret had insisted that her girl needed a good education if she was to run the farm later. "Girls do not run farms!" her father had hissed angrily. Her mother had not given up and the next summer, Elizabeth had walked to school for the first time in her life.

"Are you coming?" Anne stood in the open door, waiting for her to join her.

Elizabeth determinedly walked down the corridor and entered their classroom, settled down on her usual seat and waited for their teacher to start the first lesson.

=o=

"What happened to your face, Elizabeth?" Their only schoolmistress asked when Elizabeth had to come to the front to solve a maths problem at the large blackboard. So far no one had noticed the red and slightly swollen cheek. Maybe they had all ignored it like they always did. Most of her friends regularly had to deal with their fathers beating them. They were all used to it, accepted it as part of their upbringing. Elizabeth hated her father sometimes for being so cruel and unforgiving, for despising her because she was not a boy. But she could live with the beating as long as her mother was there to comfort her, hold her and press soft kisses on her forehead.

"I overslept this morning Miss Kelly." She answered self-confident. The schoolmistress only raised her left eyebrow and let Elizabeth continue with the given task. She took the piece of chalk and looked at the white numbers on the board. Mathematics was one of her favourite subjects. Numbers were so strong, reliable and logical. They always made sense to her and never betrayed her. If she could, she would never return to the farm and stay in this building forever. Reading, solving maths problems, writing essays. Maybe she could become a teacher later?

"Elizabeth?" Miss Kelly still stood next to her and obviously waited for her to continue. She had so been lost in thought that she forgot about the black board completely. Hastily she scribbled down a number at the end of the long string of numbers.

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**TBC**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N I am still not sure if it makes sense to publish it here because so far there is nothing happening in this story that has anything to do with Downton Abbey. Thank you anyway for following the story. If you like to leave a review, feel free to do so. **

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"I am sorry Miss Kelly." She looked down at her feet, awaiting her punishment. Not paying attention at school was something their teachers did not at all tolerate. She could understand why. It was for their best that they were given the opportunity to learn. A good school education could open the door to a better life. At least for the boys, she thought. And perhaps also for me.

"Sit down, Elizabeth." Surprised, she turned her head and stared at the schoolmistress for a split second before realizing that there would be no reprimand this time. Relieved she returned to her table, slid into the bench next to her sister and paid attention for the remainder of the lesson. Eagerly she wrote down the formulae, tried to remember and understand them. Anne eyed her sister's notes with curiosity. She was still too young to think about mathematics. On her slate she had practised letters instead. Big A's and B's slightly out of proportion.

=o=

At noon one of the boys rang the large bell that hung in the inner yard. The sound was loud and clear, reverberating from the walls. For most pupils it meant a short break and something warm to eat, Elizabeth and Anne however collected their belongings, bundled their books and tidied up their table. It was their signal to leave. Living on a farm and being responsible for some of the minor tasks meant to leave school early on most days, walk back home and work properly. Her father still despised school. Writing and reading was all his daughters needed to know in his opinion. The rest was a waste of time and workforce in his eyes, especially at such an important day where all hands were needed for the wheat harvest.

The other children ran along the corridor into the inner yard to take a break, get some fresh air and have their tin bowl filled with some stew. She longed to join them there, laugh with them, enjoy some time with the girls her age. Instead she forced herself to slow her pace, take her sister's hand and leave the building through the large front door again.

"Why do we always have to leave so early?" Anne moaned. "I want to stay."

"We are needed at home." She answered through clenched teeth before she quickened her steps, kicking some small stones out of the way with the toe of her shoe. She was angry and disappointed although she should be used to this agreement by now. The compromise her mother had made with her father, the unspoken rule Margaret Hughes had to obey when her husband had agreed to send the girls to the local school. Education was accepted as a necessary evil but only if the girls did not neglect their duties on the farm.

Today this meant helping with the harvest, bundling the grain stalks into sheaves all day until sundown. Until her back would ache and her hands were raw and red from the work. Why could she not get away from all of this?

=o=

"Your father is already waiting girls. So hurry up." They had run down the path that led to the main house, trying to make up time on the last few meters. Out of breath, Elizabeth squeezed through the open door her mother stood in, hurried upstairs into their room and kicked off her shoes. One of them landed in the corner next to the window with a loud thump, the other one underneath her bed. With all her pent up anger it was a struggle to get out of her school dress. She wanted to get rid of it fast, throw it somewhere, and release her frustration somehow. She tore off two buttons before she managed to get the damned garment over her head. Annoyed, she tossed it onto the bed and her first impulse was to throw herself next to it, bury her head into the pillow and never get up again. But then she remembered the morning and the punishment she had received.

With slumped shoulders and without any motivation she changed into her old, washed out dress, picked up her shoes, tied the laces and grabbed the large shawl from the small hook next to the door. She would need it to keep the chaff out of her dress and away from her hair.

Changing her clothes had perhaps taken ten minutes but when she arrived at the foot of the stairs her father awaited her, his face stern with cold unforgiving eyes glaring at her. In one brusque movement he grabbed her left arm and pulled her off the step she last stood on. She stumbled towards him, unable to keep her balance.

"Silly girl."

Elizabeth was pulled to her feet and her father tightened the grip on her arm when he dragged her behind and out into the small yard behind the house. Women, young boys her age and older, the old groom and a few other farmers where already waiting there. Like every year they had gathered to help with the harvest. Not only were the Hughes's fields harvested that day, the wheat harvest was a local task where everyone in the village took part in, including some of the girls.

Unlike Elizabeth, Anne could stay at the farmhouse. She helped some of the local women preparing the food for the day. Her sister was still too young with her seven years to help on the fields. Elizabeth envied her for her youth. She loved her sister dearly most of the year but there were a few moments where she wished to be younger again, carefree, not worn out by the hard work.

The group mounted horse-drawn carriages and slowly set in motion towards the fields.

She was young enough to walk behind the wagons and was soon covered in the white dust the wheels swirled up. Though her shawl covered her head and half of her mouth against the dust it was without avail, because it still burned in her eyes and made her cough.

From somewhere behind her a bottle was handed to her. She turned around, trying to find out who had noticed her distress. Usually everyone in their group kept to themselves. The woman who walked right next to Elizabeth only smiled and told her in thick scots Gaelic, which she almost did not understand that the Burns boy had handed her the bottle. Elizabeth scanned the crowd again, anxious to spot Joe Burns blonde head. He had disappeared, or hid behind the taller men. With a small smile she opened the bottle, took a large sip and was grateful for the relief it brought her already sore throat.

=o=

She had forgotten how vast the fields actually were. Between the dusty road and the edge of the forest lay nothing but bright golden wheat, swaying slowly and continuously in the mild summer breeze. On the horizon half of the fields disappeared where the fields went downhill and ended close to river. Her father sorted them into small groups, provided them with some bottles of beer and water for the children and sent them into the fields. Scythes cut the stems close to the ground, opening a path for the women who followed close behind ready to pick the stems up and bundling them into huge stacks, making them ready to dry for a few days before they would be picked up, loaded onto wagons and brought to the large open space behind the church.

She dared to think about this at the moment while she was busy with the sheaves. It only meant more hard work, more tiredness and aching muscles. There was no chance to escape it all unless she fell ill or ran away or died. Mechanically her hands picked up the stems, sorted them and put them next to the already existing sheaves on the field. She had done this too many times already in her life. Three years ago her father had pronounced her old enough to help the other women. She had been only nine back then. Elizabeth still remembered her first hours, how she could barely use her hands after they were finished with half the field. There had been blood everywhere from the sharp edged stems that cut like knifes into her soft skin. That night her mother had a heated discussion with her father. Doors had been slammed shut, crockery broke and Elizabeth was sure there he had also hit her. In the morning her mother had been unable to rise from her chair without clenching her teeth yet assured her daughters that everything was fine.

Another hour passed, then another. Inch by inch they worked their way through the neverending rows created by the scythes blades. She had too much time to think during these hours, the work so repetitive, her movements known by heart and experience that she did not pay a lot of attention. She thought about school, possible chances for her, ways to leave this life behind. Elizabeth would ask her mother later if she had a chance to become a teacher. After all, she was a bright young girl, eager to learn and her grades were good. But then, it would of course cost a lot of money to learn all the things Miss Kelly knew. Was there enough money?

"Ouch!" Blood oozed from a cut in her palm where the knife she carried had slipped from the stems. She sucked at the wound, tried to ignore the burning pain. Silly girl, she scolded herself while she searched the pockets of her apron for a handkerchief or something similar to stop the bleeding.

"What's wrong?" His voice had deepened over the summer months and Elizabeth at first did not recognize it at all. "Let me have a look." Without warning he took her hand, turned it over to look at the cut. "It is not deep. Let me bandage it for you."

She looked into his eyes, studied his face, was fascinated by his voice. Joe Burns was sixteen and almost all of the girls in her village admired him. She was no exception. "Thank you."

"You are welcome." He smiled at her before he started to wrap his white handkerchief around her hand, securing it with a knot. "There you go. It should hold for now but maybe your mum should clean the wound later."

Elizabeth studied her bandaged hand with fascination. He was always so nice to her. He never did those things for the other girls. Was it possible that he fancied her? Her, the silly young girl that rather read books than go to the fair? The one that always had dirty hands from the work in the stables?

* * *

TBC

**Next chapter will then be about Charles Carson, son of the head groom ;)**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N Charles Carson makes his appearance. nanowrimo day 3. This chapter is shorter than the other ones because I had no time for writing today :). Next one will be longer then.**

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"You cannot tell me what I have to do!" He yelled at him, louder than ever before, threw the brush onto the floor where it landed with a loud clatter. "I am old enough to make my own decisions!" And he was not going to listen to this anymore. In his fury he left the stables in such a hurry that he hit the doorframe with his left shoulder and almost tripped over an empty bucket. He did not care about the throbbing pain, ignored the voice of his father that carried through the stable aisle, reminding him once again of his role in their family and how much he relied on him.

Charles did not care! He could not live this life a second longer. Constantly he had to obey, follow some silly rules, bow and scrape in front of everyone. He was not born for a life in service. His father, well, he was a different generation and compared to the male staff that worked inside the house, he had a very good position as head groom. Always outside, not restricted to the strict hours that accompanied the position of footman or a kitchen maid. And he had been given the allowance to marry. Not many servants could call themselves that lucky. Eighteen years ago Charles had been born. Their only son, headstrong, proud and stubborn. William Carson had managed to get him his first job as a bootblack inside the house when Charles was ten. Since then he had constantly improved his position among the servants and was now third footman to the Earl of Grantham.

How he hated his work! The rules, the endless dinners, where he had to be polite and quiet all of the time. The problem was not exactly that he waited on all these noble gentlemen and ladies, he simply hated that he could not have his own opinion, was not in charge of his own life. Frustrated he returned to the house, hurriedly ascended the stairs to the servant quarters in the attic and pushed open the door to the bedroom he shared with the second footman with such force, that the door bounced back and the handle hit his hip.

Charles winced in pain and limped over to the small wrought iron bed in his corner of the room where he sat down and buried his head in his hands. It was not fair. He was eighteen already, not of age yet, but old enough to make his own decisions. He wanted to leave service, find his own position in life, be free and not tied to one employer forever. How many times had he discussed all of this with his father already? He could not remember. Today their argument had gotten out of hand. William Carson had made it clear that his son would not get any support from his parents should he decide to leave his good position at Downton Abbey.

This was exactly his problem at the moment, the inner conflict he had tried to avoid. He loved his parents dearly. William and Grace Carson were gentle and loving parents who had always supported their boy, educated him, send him to school, taught him so many valuable things. Why could they not understand that he needed to leave them while he still could?

=o=

He was late for dinner that night. Something the butler, Mr. Wilkinson, did not tolerate. Charles knew that he would receive his punishment later. Some despised task like cleaning all the delicate crystal glasses on his own instead of handing them over to the scullery maids. Or the cancellation of his half day off at the end of the coming week. To get into Mr. Wilkinson's good books again or at least reduce his punishment he had tried to get downstairs as fast as he could. Maybe the butler would not notice his mistake. A bit out of breath Charles arrived in the kitchens, smiled at the old cook and was ready to accept the sauce for dinner tonight. His charm most of the time did the trick.

"Charles!" Mr. Wilkonson's impressive voice hit his ears the moment he was about to take the dish and run upstairs. "A word please."

Carefully he placed the sauce boat back on the table and straightened his back, ready to receive his dressing-down. "Yes Mr. Wilkinson." Although he would rather have answered with some snarky comment, he knew that it was not worth it. In front of his father he sometimes lost respect but not in front of Mr. Wilkinson. The butler was perhaps the only position at Downton Abbey Charles would accept as his job one day. Here he could be in charge, make his own rules, have his own schedule and not be pushed around.

"What is wrong with you?" the old man had lowered his voice while he spoke to Charles, both stood in the doorway of the butler's pantry. "You are never late."

Charles wished he could give his superior a satisfying answer, one that did not sound ridiculous. He had told his father that he would rather be on the stage than spend one more day in service. He could not possibly mention this in front of Mr. Wilkinson. "I am sorry Sir. It won't happen again."

The butler narrowed his eyes and scrutinized Charles. He could not answer the question honestly. It would not be appropriate at all. "Very well. I will have a word with your father later. Hurry now."

=o=

At night he lay awake, staring at the dark ceiling above his bed, wondering if he had the courage to leave it all behind and more important: when and how. Dinner went well in the end and his father had not wished to talk to him after the butler had told him about his son's misbehaviour. But his mother had waited for him in the servant's hall a sad expression on her face.

Her face was what kept him awake. The sadness in her eyes, the unshed tears and the quiver in her voice when she spoke to him. "Charlie, I know it is hard and that you'd rather do something else. But you have to understand: we only want the best for you. And this job, here, is something most boys your age would be very grateful for."

With his mother he could never argue. "I know mum."

"Promise me to not do something foolish."

He could not promise her that. As much as he wanted to, it would have been a lie. Should he leave service there were not many jobs he could take on. He had never worked on a farm, his skills in writing, math and other school subjects were good but not exceptional. Perhaps he could work in a shop, sell groceries. Or buy his own horse carriage and work as a cabby. He had saved all of his meager salary, never spent any of it.

Should he simply leave the house at night, run away without giving a notice? He could also talk to his lordship and ask him to let him go. Maybe Lord Grantham had some business relations that would be helpful for Charles and offer him an opportunity for a new employment. Sighing he turned to face the wall. He could not come up with a good plan. All he knew was that he had to leave and soon.

* * *

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N nanowrimo day 4. Goal almost reached :). Thank you so much for the reviews! It makes the writing experience so much better.**

**Enjoy the next chapter about the young Charles Carson. **

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Mr. Wilkinson had not forgotten about last night's mistake. Early the next morning Charles was sent down to the village to pick up the morning papers. Usually the post clerk's boy would deliver them to the house every morning. But the butler obviously thought it might be good practise for Charles to have some time on his own, contemplate about his position and the associated tasks. If he must, then he had to go.

Charles hated to get up even earlier than necessary. It was still too dark outside although the sun began to rise already. The room was cold and he shivered when the cold water from the mug touched his skin. In the semi-darkness he began to shave, comb his hair, and make that one lock that always threatened to fall across his forehead stay in place. On tip toes and without his shoes on, he left the room. He did not want to wake up John who was still fast asleep for at least an hour longer. At the end of the servant's staircase, he put on his shoes and then took the rest of the stairs in a hurry. The walk to the village would take at least 20 minutes if not longer and he could not risk being late again.

The morning air was fresh and enjoyable though it was already getting colder a bit. The end of August was near and soon summer would turn into autumn and then the long dark hours of winter would come. He turned up the collar of this old coat and kept his hands inside the pockets. With every step he took towards the village, he felt a bit lighter, less worried and restricted. The darkness around him slowly changed into the red glow of sunrise, matching his good mood. Last night, before he finally found sleep, he had thought so long about his future and a plan on what do to other than being in service. Escaping Downton Abbey had seemed impossible. He could not leave his mother worrying for him. But now, as he walked to pick up the newspapers, he suddenly saw things in a different light.

=o=

At the post office the yellow glow of a gas lamp indicated that someone was already up though probably as tired as he was. Charles knocked at the door and a few minutes later was greeted by the post clerk's sleepy face.

"What are you doing here Master Carson?" he let him step inside. "Has something happened over at the house?"

Charles wished the man a good morning before he answered. "No sir, everything is fine. I am here to pick up the morning newspapers."

The confused look on the man's face told him that a longer explanation was required. "I was late for dinner service last night and Mr. Wilkinson thought the early walk to the village would teach me a lesson."

A smile crossed the tired face of the post clerk. "Ah, I see. Very well. I'll fetch you the papers."

While he waited, Charles had a look at the billboard next to the main door. There was always something interesting on them. Announcement for new plays at the local theatre in Ripon, advertisements for peculiar appliances and sometimes even job vacancies. He was not sure wha he was looking for. Usually he read the billboard out of curiosity. Today though one particular placard caught his attention immediately. A fair would come to the village in two weeks. It meant seeing strange creatures, acrobats, a dance band, delicious food and drink. As a young boy he had always enjoyed the hustle and bustle of such events, the strange smells, exotic looking people and the excitement a fair brought into town.

"Ah you've already seen it." Charles turned around, startled, he had so been lost in his own thoughts and memories that he had not noticed the post clerk behind him. "Came yesterday. This time they will also show strange animals I've heard."

Charles turned his attention back to the billboard to read the announcement once more. There was nothing about strange animals but the post clerk usually was right with his predictions. "Thank you Mr. Ashton. I am looking forward to it already."

"Here are your papers, boy." He handed over a pile of newspapers that Charles carefully took, balancing them on his right arm. "Now hurry up before you are late again."

=o=

He could try to get a job at the fair, travel across the country, help with the construction work or with the horses. Most important: he could earn some more money fast and after a while leave this life behind and open his own business, the way he had dreamed about it last night. Maybe the people from the fair were looking for a young strong man like him who understood a bit about horses. His steps were so much lighter now on his way back to the house.

When he entered the grounds again through the large black iron front gate and saw the house in front of him, illuminated by the early morning sun with this special golden-red glow, he had made his decision. In two weeks he would leave service and start a new life. It did not matter what his father would think about it, he might need a bit of persuasion to calm his mother but Charles would simply promise her to write often and to take care of himself.

The only problem now was how to tell his Lordship that his third footman wished to leave his service in order to pursue a life on the road, among travelling people? Charles steps slowed down significantly. Lord Grantham would not like this decision at all. He was a kind employer but he also held on to the old fashioned idea of the nobleman that provided shelter and employment to those less fortunate than him. It meant that he did not think highly about jobs outside the world he was accustomed to. He accepted the farmers on his land, the servant's under his roof, all the men and women working in the village. They were all part of his estate. He would not like the idea of his third footman leaving service to travel through the country!

Perhaps Charles needed and ally. His father was out of question and the other footmen would laugh at him and his silly idea. Grace Carson though, as much as Charles had feared last night to disappoint her and leave her behind worried about him, might help him. His mother always wanted her son to be happy and if he could persuade her that this new life would make him happy than she might talk to his Lordship herself and ask for permission to let her son go.

=o=

The backdoor was open. Henry, the first footman stood in the doorframe to smoke. A habit Charles detested. With the papers draped over his arm he tried to pass the older man without being caught up in some uninteresting small talk. Henry was the one who always knew about everything that was going on downstairs and upstairs. His gossip was legendary.

"Morning Henry," he mumbled and squeezed through the doorframe. But as soon as he was almost inside the house, Henry caught his shoulder.

"Where've you been?" The cigarette landed on the ground and was put out with the heel of his shoe. "It's too early for you to be up Charlie."

He rolled his eyes, his back still facing the older footman. When he turned around to look at Henry, it was with a snarky smile. "I deliver the newspapers this morning." To emphasize this he lifted his arm and pointed at the papers. "And I am afraid I have to hurry up and iron them now. Excuse me Henry."

The grip on his shoulder was still a bit firm but Charles managed to free himself from it and quickly walked down the corridor towards the butler's pantry, away from the backdoor and Henry. Mr. Wilkinson was already up and waiting for him.

"Charles! There you are. I see you where fast this morning. Well done. You can start ironing the papers and then get some breakfast."

=o=

It always felt a bit odd to fulfill this task. When he was first asked to get the board and the iron out, Charles thought he had misunderstood Mr. Wilkinson. Why would anyone iron a newspaper? The pages were not crumpled. But he had been too afraid to ask for an explanation. Instead he had asked his mother later the same evening and Grace Carson had explained to him that it dried the ink and when his Lordship picked up the newspaper in the morning he would not blacken his hands with the fresh printing ink.

Charles took the board out and had the iron heated on the kitchen stove. While he waited he flicked through the Times and the Yorkshire Observer. An advertisement in the Observer caught his eye immediately. The letters in the headline were ornate and it stood out against the other rather plain advertisements.

_Cheerful Charlie and his magnificent Show of Tricks, Enchantments and Illusions – he dances, he sings and he will fascinate you. At the village fair in Downton – do not miss it!_

A magician? He read the small advertisement again and again until one of the kitchen maids brought the now hot iron back to the butler's pantry and he set to work. He would go and see this Cheerful Charlie in two weeks. Although Mr. Wilkinson had not mentioned the fair yet, Charles was certain the butler knew about it. Hopefully they would all go down to the village one evening. And it would then also be his last day in service – if all went well and he could find the courage to talk to his mother tonight.

* * *

TBC

(Next Chapter Charles Carson again and then we will see what happened to Elsie)


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N Thank you again for the nice reviews :) (although there were typos in the document... I haven't edited a thing of this!)(sorry)**

**This is the 3rd Charles Carson chapter. Enjoy reading (hopefully)**

**The name "Grace" comes from another fanfic, I believe onesimus named Mrs. Carson "Grace". Thank you for doing this!**

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The advertisement had not left his mind all day. Every free minute he contemplated about it, tried to think of a good situation to talk about the topic to his mother. His thoughts wandered into every possible direction, made up several scenarios how to bring up the topic. Luckily Mr. Wilkinson did not notice that Charles was not really paying attention today. Only once did he caught him, when he was absent-mindedly offering the sauce to the young Lord Grantham first instead of his mother the Countess. The young Earl did not mind but the scornful glance he earned from the butler made him pay extra attention during the remainders of the dinner service. Better not get on the bad side of Mr. Wilkinson again.

Only after the dinner, on his way downstairs to the kitchen, carrying the dirty dishes, he allowed himself to continue with his planning that still only existed in his mind.

"Your thoughts are elsewhere again, aren't they?" His mother suddenly stood behind him, hands folded in front of her black dress, keys at her hips and a kind smile on her face. "Charles you really need to pay more attention to what you are doing."

He could not control himself in the presence of his mother and therefore he blushed furiously. "I am sorry mother." Putting the heavy tray on the table he shook his aching hands. Maybe this was the perfect moment to ask for a discussion.

"You can call yourself lucky that Mr. Wilkinson did not see you like this."

Charles lowered his head and stared at the stone floor. "He did."

His mother shook her head. He could not see it but the keys at her hip jingled and she must have made some movement to cause the sound. When he looked up again, cautiously, awaiting another scolding today, Grace Carson still smiled at her son. "Your father told me what has happened yesterday. We should talk, Charles."

=o=

Nervously he paced his room. From one end to the next and back again, all the while trying to come up with a good explanation why he wanted to leave. He hated the rules, the fact that he was a no one in this house, that he was not free. But he could not possibly tell his mother all of this. He had mentioned only some of this to his father, it had given him a bruised hip and he had not seen his father since that argument.

His mother was kind and caring. She always listened to her son. Most of the time they agreed on things but there had also been discussions when Charles had presented his arguments and Grace Carson had listened patiently, giving him the impression she listened and approved of what he had said. Then, in the end, she had told him _no _and her reasons for her rejection where always plausible and never unfair. Charles felt defeated after such a talk but not reprimanded.

He had another look at the small pocket watch his father had given him on his sixteenth birthday. It was time to go downstairs and wait in front of the housekeeper's sitting room, her mother's room in this large house. The way downstairs from the servant's quarters to the kitchens took longer than ever. With every step, Charles felt his courage leave him a bit more. Running away might not be such a good idea after all. Perhaps he could live with his job a while longer and be exceptionally good at what he did. Then promotion would come sooner. No, he was eighteen. To be a butler he had to be at least forty. Twenty-two years of waiting was not something he felt he could endure. So he tried to ignore the nagging doubt and hurried down the last few steps, opened the door that led to the kitchen and servant's hall and then waited a moment in front of the housekeeper's sitting room to catch his breath.

Cautiously he knocked, waited for an answer, but none came. Had she forgotten about their appointment? Was she not in her room? Nervously Charles fumbled for his watch in the pocket of his waistcoat and looked at the time. She had said they would meet half an hour after the dinner service was over. It was exactly the correct time. He knocked at the wooden door a second time. This time he received an answer.

Hesitantly he entered the room and was surprised to see Mr. Wilkinson there to. So this was not a talk between mother and son then but about his work again. The surprise quickly turned into anger and frustration again that they had deceived him, possibly planned this behind his back. His hesitance was replaced by stubbornness and he approached the chair his mother sat on, stopped in front of it and straightened his back to look down at both, butler and housekeeper.

"You wanted to speak to me, Mrs. Carson?" the formal tone in his voice was rather sarcastic at this moment.

"Charles, sit down." As always his mother was not impressed by her son's behaviour and Charles hated that Mr. Wilkinson had witnessed this moment. To his surprise, the butler gave up his chair and offered Charles to sit in front of his mother.

"I better go now." And with that he left the room. Charles' turned around and watched him leave. They had both played a clever game, he thought. He was angry and nervous now instead of determined and sure about this important talk that could change his life forever.

"Mr. Wilkinson was only here to discuss tomorrow's menu." Grace Carson gently stroked her son's hand that was lying on his knee. "I still miss you over at the cottage, you know. We see each other every day but we never really talk."

Charles tried to stay reserved and professional, not let his mother's endearments change his mind. But he had never been able to stay angry with her for long. His father was a different matter though.

"I know, mum. But I am no longer a child and it was good that I moved into the big house." He would not say that he moved into the servant's quarters because he had a good position now, one that was promising, because it was not what he felt. And saying it only to please his mother was wrong. Especially when the main reason for this talk was to tell her he had decided to leave, this time forever and not just a few hundred metres away from the groom's cottage.

"You don't know how often I had this discussion with your father already." She shook her head and smiled then continued with such seriousness in her voice Charles had never heard before. "But you do not seem to be happy my boy."

His other hand covered hers and held it for a while before he answered. "Mum, Da might have told you already…" he started but felt it was wrong to assume that she already knew everything. A deep breath was needed to calm him down and start again. "I want to leave service." It was a simple sentence but one that was so important and had so much meaning.

His mother simply stared at him and seemed unable to move or say a word. Charles continued. "You are right, I am not happy _here_. I cannot waste my life, waiting on other people. It is not who I am."

Grace Carson let her hand slip out from his grip. "What else will you do then?" Never had her voice sounded so cold before.

"First of all, I do not want to be at the end of some hierarchy." He wanted to reach out for her again but when he saw that his mother had folded her hands in her lap now, knuckles turning white from clasping them together so tight, he had to think of a different technique. "I am not saying that you and Da have not taught me well and I am grateful that I was given the opportunity to work here. But there is so much beyond these walls!"

And I hate the rules, and I hate that I cannot decide for myself what to do with my time, he thought but did not speak it out loud. It would hurt his mother too much and he was already walking on a very thin line with his next confession. "In two weeks there is a fair at the village and I will join the people there." He had said it, had spoken out loud the idea that had been on his mind all night.

He could see how his mother's face turned awfully pale within seconds. She turned her head away from him. Had this all been a mistake? Maybe he should have explained it in a different way. He knew it would hurt but he had not expected it to have such a huge impact on both him and his mother. "Mum?"

Grace Carson did not look at him instead he heard her whisper something. "Leave. Leave me alone."

=o=

For the first time in years, he cried himself to sleep, the pillow covering his head to muffle the sobs. He did not want John to know. The bed sheet was soaked with his tears already. Everything was wet and his eyes hurt, burned almost because there were no tears left after a while. His mother had told him the day before that she knew he did not like the job and his intention had not been to disappoint her. But that was exactly the thing he had done. Charles felt guilty because he had betrayed his own parents.

He wiped away the last of the tears with the sleeve of his pyjamas. They had to understand, why could they not see that he felt miserable here? He buried his head under the pillow again and tried to control the sobs by taking deep breaths. He would go. It was his life, wasn't it? Yes, he would leave and talk to Mr. Wilkinson and his Lordship as soon as there was a possibility. He could not wait longer, would not let this chance pass. Another deep breath and another and he felt how he slowly drifted into a deep but fitful sleep.

In his sleep the dreams came, dreams about leaving the house behind with a happy face, waving his smiling parents good bye. At the gate, a carriage waited for him. He took a seat in the front, the horses began to move and the house became smaller and smaller behind him until he could not see it anymore. His new life felt good, he felt good. The air around him smelled different and his heart was so light suddenly as if a huge weight had been lifted from it. Happy, he began to sing and the man sitting next to him joined in.

What he could not remember of his dream later after he had woken up and got ready for another day as third footman, was the dark forest the carriage had entered after they had travelled through the countryside for a while. It swallowed the horses; the man next to him and in the end Charles was alone and could not find a way out. He was trapped in an impenetrable darkness.

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**TBC**

**And in the next chapter I will return to Elsie Hughes's life.**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N Aaaaand the next one :) This time about Elsie again who is still known as Elizabeth. **

**If you want, let me know what you think about this whole thing.  
**

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She could barely walk. Her whole body ached, shoulders, hands, knees, everything was sore. They left the fields at sundown, after working all day with only two small breaks. The handkerchief Joe had used to bandage her hand was no longer white. Blood stained the part where the cut was covered and the rest had taken on a brown-grey colour from the dust and dirt of the fieldwork. It throbbed and tingled when she moved her hand now but she was too exhausted to remove the bandage to check whether there was an infection or not. Monotonously they walked home, following the half laden carriages. Their helpers would return in the morning to finish the work. Elizabeth followed their own wagon back to the farm. She did not pay attention where they walked and how far they had already come. She only dragged on. When their house came into view she let out a relieved moan. Finally the day was over. All she wanted now was take a bath and go to sleep, provided that her mother had prepared a bath already. She let out another moan and regretted it a second later when her father grabbed her aching shoulder.

"Stop complaining Els." He pushed her forwards, but she could not walk any faster. The blisters on her feet hurt so much. "Walk on!" She was pushed more and bit her lip to stifle a cry of pain. With gritted teeth she moved on, only a few more steps. Elizabeth could already smell the stew her mother had prepared together with Anne, could see the light spilling out of the windows into the yard. And then there finally was the doorstep, the open door, the warmth of the house. Her father pushed her inside and she almost stumbled again if it had not been for her mother who had opened her arms to welcome her eldest daughter with an embrace. Elizabeth fell right into them, burying her head on her mother's chest.

"My poor girl." Soothingly Margaret Hughes stroked her daughter's disheveled hair. Elizabeth took deep breaths, inhaled the nice smell she always associated with her mother. It calmed her down, made it possible to swallow down the tears that had threatened to well up. "Why do you always let her work so long, Aidan? She is exhausted!" Elizabeth buried her head deeper into her mother's bosom. She wanted to stay like this at least for the next hour, absorbing this rare moment, the warmth, love, comfort.

"She is old enough to work and we need every helping hand", was all her father had to say before he left the house again to help unload the wagon.

"You want to take a bath now Els?" The soft voice of her mother was like a cocoon, surrounding her, promising her that nothing bad could happen tonight.

"Yes, thank you mum." She lifted her head and placed a simple kiss on her mother's cheek.

=o=

The small washhouse was located next to the kitchen. Gas lamps were already lit and the room was filled with the hot steam evaporating from the tin tub. Carefully Elizabeth opened her shawl and shook out the dust and chaff. It was everywhere inside her dress too, itching, irritating her skin. What a relief it was to discard her dress, simply let it fall to the floor. Then she removed the bandage around her hand and inspected the wound. It did not look infected, only dirty. But it hurt so much still.

With a towel she removed most of the chaff before she stepped into the tub, the hot water felt like heaven. As soon as her injured hand made contact with it though she jerked. "Ouch!" She tried again to dip the hand into the hot water, clenched her teeth. The cut needed cleaning.

Her sore muscles slowly relaxed, the feeling in her feet returned, she could move her shoulders again. With her left hand she grabbed the soap from a nearby stool. Carefully, without touching the cut, she began to clean her body, then her hair. It had been a long time since she had last felt so good and therefore Elizabeth took her time, stayed in the washhouse for as long as possible before she stepped out of the tub and dried herself with another towel. Only then did she realize that she had not thought about fetching a spare dress from her room. Should she get back inside only wrapped in a towel? Her father would not like that. But maybe he was still busy with unloading the wagon. Elizabeth tightened the towel around her and put her socks back on, then opened the adjoining door that led to the kitchen. As quick as possible she tiptoed towards the stairs.

For the first time today, luck was on her side. Unseen she entered the bedroom and quickly dressed again. The long brown hair was braided into a plait. Before she left the room again to get something to eat she had a look in the mirror, studied the reflection there. Joe had been so nice to her but she could not understand why. She did not look different than the other girls in the village, some of them were really pretty and looked more like women than she did. There was not even a need to wear a corset yet! Elizabeth smiled at her reflection, batted her lashes and broke into laughter. This was silly!

=o=

During their dinner, Anne entertained the family with stories about her afternoon. They were filled with so much laughter and light that Elizabeth began to hate her life even more than she already did. She stayed silent. There were no stories to tell, only of hard, repetitive work. From time to time she looked over at her father who helped himself to a third bowl of stew already and wished she could tell him how much she hated him sometimes. It was not her fault that she was not a boy. God only knew that she often wished she was male. So many chances, possible professions, a girl would never have. She remembered her idea from the morning: what if I become a teacher? She could ask her mother about it later when her father was out at the pub celebrating the first day of the harvest. Absentmindedly she picked up her spoon with the left hand and winced.

Her mother turned her head at the unusual sound from her daughter's lips. "Elizabeth, is something wrong?"

Biting her lip to control the pain she shook her head. "Nothing mum." She shifted the spoon into her left hand and continued to eat her stew. The other hand rested in her lap to hide the cut. Her father should better not know about this.

=o=

Anne was sleeping soundly. Nothing could ever wake her little sister. Not even the sounds from the kitchen, Elizabeth listened to intently at the moment. Little snippets of her parent's conversation carried upstairs into her room where she had left the door open a bit. Her mother was angry, accusing her father of something Elizabeth could not understand. Was it about her? She so wished her mother would convince his father that she was too young and not experienced enough to continue with the harvest. This, of course, was not the case. Elizabeth was used to hard work and she learned fast. But she was a girl!

Her father shouted something, then the front door was opened and slammed shut. Silence. He was gone. From downstairs all she could hear now were quiet sobs. Elizabeth sat down on the floor, rested her head on her knees and encircled them with her arms. She did not want to hear this sound, would not allow it to break her heart. This was not fair. Her mother did not deserve all of this. She tried to ignore her own tears as they started to fall and dampen her dress. Elizabeth sniffed, wiped the tears away with her hand. She could not lose her strength, not now. For a few minutes she waited until her tears had dried before she stood up again and went downstairs.

"Elizabeth!" Her mother sat at the kitchen table, her eyes red. She tried to hide it from her daughter by standing up and busying herself with a pot of water on the stove. "I was making tea. Did I wake you?"

Whenever her mother called her by her given name, something was wrong. Everywhere, except of in school, she was known as _Els. _She was not sure what to do next. Wait? Tell her mother that she could not sleep, which was true at least? Or tell her about her idea?

"Mum, I wanted to ask you something." She decided to try and be honest, ask her mother right away.

Margaret Hughes was still busy making tea which, Elizabeth was sure of, she would never drink. Her mother always had a tendency of keeping herself busy with something when she was upset. Elizabeth was used to this. Especially when her father was involved. "Is it about school?"

Elizabeth nodded and could not keep herself from biting her lip again, a habit she could not suppress. "Yes." She answered while studying the pattern of the old wooden table.

"But your grades were good the last time I spoke to your teacher." Her mother sat down next to her, abandoning her tea for a moment. "So what is it?"

"Mum", she started hesitantly, not sure how to proceed. "I was wondering." A deep breath, looking up from the table straight into her mother's eyes. "I think I want to become a teacher." There, she had said it, had made her decision.

Her mother inhaled sharply before she took her daughter's hands in hers. "Els, I wish I could tell you that I would feel very proud that you want to study for this profession."

Elizabeth held her breath. This did not sound at all good and was not the reaction she had expected.

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TBC


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N another unedited nanowrimo chapter. Haven't found the time to write yesterday.**

**Let me know what you think if you like.**

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Her mother squeezed her hands, then brushed away a single brown strand of hair from Elizabeth's forehead. "You are a very smart girl, you know that."

She still held her breath, waited in anticipation. "I don't want you to take over the farm when you are old enough", her mother whispered as if afraid someone else might hear. "Don't tell your father I've said that." It was the first time her mother had spoken about Elizabeth's future. She had never thought about staying here forever let alone owning the farm one day. So there was still a chance to escape all of this, change her life.

But then her mother continued. "Elizabeth, as much as I would like to give you the opportunity to become a teacher, we do not have the money to pay for the education."

She let out the breath she had held all the time and withdrew her hand immediately. "No!" Her voice was not loud but her mother winced at the sound of it. "But I don't want to stay here!"

Margaret Hughes sighed, so deeply Elizabeth was afraid she might start to cry. There was one thing that always broke her: seeing other people, especially her family, cry. She moved a bit closer again, tentatively reaching out to touch her mother's hand again but only with the tips of her fingers. "You do not have to." The voice was calm but Elizabeth could hear the hurt in it. "When you are old enough to take care of your life on your own you can leave Els."

For a while they both were silent, absorbed in thought. When Elizabeth spoke again she tried with all her might not to cry or sound upset. Why hurt her mother even more? "But what else can I do?"

The sadness on her mother's face was replaced by seriousness which made Elizabeth feel a bit uneasy and she was afraid to hear the answer. She would not stay on the farm, this was for certain. What else was there for a girl like her then? Getting married and have children, no education, no occupation? She was only twelve but she knew that this was not the life she wanted.

"You know how to organise things, and you take care of others." All of this was true, still she did not understand what this meant for her future. "The Harrison girl is now working over at the Graham estate as a housemaid. It is a good position."

=o=

Her father came back late at night. She could hear how he opened the front door, too loud to be ignored. The loud footfall carried upstairs to her room even though the door was closed. Elizabeth still had not found any sleep after the talk with her mother. She lay awake, thinking about what her mother had suggested. A life in service was an option though it meant to be subordinate again, the same situation like now. But her father would not be there and the work would be hard but not cruel. And there was always the possibility to get promoted to a higher position. She was sure that something like this existed. Maybe her mother's idea was not that bad.

Her line of thought was abruptly interrupted when the stairs creaked under her father's feet. He was drunk, his steps too unsteady for a sober man. Elizabeth hid under her coverlet and tried to avoid any sound. He would not hurt her, he never did when he was drunk, but she was afraid, still. She knew the stories of some of her classmates who sometimes did not attend school for days. Not because they also had to work on the fields, some of them weren't even farmer's daughters, but because they had been beaten. Severely beaten. Even after a few days absence one could still see a limp or a black eye, scratches on arms and legs in summer.

Their door opened and a glimmer of light fell through the gap. She could see it on the wooden floor until his shadow covered it. He was standing there, breathing heavily and Elizabeth held her breath. She did not want him to come into their room. She could not stand the smell of alcohol, the slurred speech, or anything related to drunkenness. As much as it frightened her, it also disgusted her. The floorboards creaked, one step, two steps. She tried to breath normally, not give any indication that she was still awake. When the door closed again and she heard him outside on the corridor, walking towards the bedroom, she began to sob silently. The day had been too much.

=o=

**1878 **

"No you can't", she answered with a smirk. "It's not proper." He took his hand away from her knee reluctantly. Elsie, as she was known now to her friends, brought a respectable distance between her and Joe. "This is better." She still could not wipe that smile from her face. Over the summer they had become more and more familiar with each other. Joe had always been some kind of friend since she was twelve. Now with sixteen, when she felt more mature and knew that for some of the young boys and men she looked attractive, she had granted him some things she would not allow the other boys to do. Like holding her hand or whispering something in her ear.

Joe had always been very patient, nice and most of all, he did not push her, did not want her do to anything she was not comfortable with. She would not call it courting what they did. He had asked her before their summer break if he could call her "Elsie" instead of the formal "Elizabeth". She had liked the name. Within her family she had always been known as "Els". Elsie sounded so much better. Her sister had picked up the name fast whereas her mother still preferred Els. Her father did not care for such things at all.

"Elsie, it won't hurt you." He held out his hand, palm open, ready for her to take it.

"I know that." Her mother had given her the _talk _some time ago when she had found out that Joe Burns was interested in her daughter. "But still." She reached out and took his hand, let him hold hers. They sat next to each other at the village fair, observing the older couples on the dance floor. It looked so easy. How the men led the women across the floor, turning them around in perfect circles. Although the old circle dances where out of fashion, everyone was still enjoying them. Elsie had heard of the waltz and other dances at school when they had learned about Europe. But none of the couples were actually able to teach her. Her parents never danced, her cousins laughed at her and her little sister thought she was too smug for wanting to learn these things when the old dances where much more fun. Anne was somewhere on the dance floor herself, running around with her friends. Elsie was here too watch her sister, not only to enjoy herself.

"Where is Anne?" Joe asked, while trying to find her among the dancers.

"I don't know. We better find her. Father doesn't like it when I leave her alone for too long." This sounded harmless to Joe's ears. And she had wanted it to sound like this. Years ago she had been afraid that her father might hit her, hurt her when she did not obey. He sometimes slapped her face. But that had been all. Until recently earlier this summer. She never found out why he had suddenly changed but one evening she had come home from an afternoon with two friends, not late, perfectly on time, and she was greeted at home with such a blow on her face that she fell to the floor. It resulted in a black eye and a swollen cheek. A later, she was busy taking care of their cows, he suddenly dragged her out of the stables and screamed at her. _What do you think you are doing? WHY ELIZABETH? _She had no idea what he was talking about. His fist landed in her face a second time.

From that moment on, she tried to not give him any reason to hit her. And this included taking care of her sister. In front of Joe, she never mentioned all of this. He would only do something foolish to protect her. She was perfectly capable of doing this on her own.

Anne's dark-haired head appeared between the dancers and Elsie jumped up, letting go of Joe's hand, to maneuver around the dancers to catch her sister. "Anne. It's late. We better be going now!"

Her sister tried to break free from her sister's firm grip. "No. Please Elsie. It's not even dark yet."

"I promised to take care of you." She hissed. Anne knew what this meant and reluctantly she obeyed, but dragged on behind her sister. "You haven't even danced with Joe."

One angry glare into Anne's eyes told her sister to shut up. Elsie wanted to dance with Joe. More than anything else. But she was also a bit afraid of what might happen. He would certainly touch her, he had to. She did not feel ready for this kind of activity yet. Maybe next year or at the Christmas dance.

=0=

Quickly she said goodbye, allowed Joe to touch her hand again, nothing more. Not in front of Anne. Then the two girls hurried to get back home. The sun already began to set and she wanted to be home before sunset when there was still light outside. Anne tried her best to keep pace with her sister.

"Why are running!"

Elsie was indeed a bit out of breath. "I want to be home before father is there", she hissed. He would not find a reason to attack her then. Not in front of her sister or her mother. He had only done so when no one else had been around. "So come on please." The anger slowly dissipated the further they walked along. Fear, the one you cannot fully grasp and understand but which is constantly there like an invisible threat, replaced it. Another reason why she wanted to be home earlier was the possibility it gave her to talk to her mother. It was time to make a decision now.

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**thank you for still reading this :)**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N I had a hard time finishing the daily goal over at nanowrimo the last two days. But here is another chapter :)**

**Enjoy reading. (Elsie's story also started in 1872 - assuming she was born in 1860)**

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**1872**

Whether this decision would change his life to better he did not know. Her mother had not spoken to him for two full days, something Grace Carson had never done before. Usually she was unable to be cross with her only son for longer than half a day. His father even managed to avoid him for a full week. Something that was easy when one was familiar with the estate. The head groom never came into the house and Charles hardly ever left it. Charles had felt so miserable but at the same time determined. He would leave his family behind, the house, friends he had made in his years here, but he would also get a new life, new opportunities.

Today he finally found the courage to talk to Mr. Wilkinson. Charles was not sure whether the old butler already knew. His mother might have told him about their talk a week ago. But then, Grace Carson had never been a woman who mixed her private affairs with work. She was too professional for that.

The knock Charles placed on the door was strong and undoubtedly showed how determined he was to follow through with his plan. Though if one would take a moment and have a look inside him, he was full of doubts and not sure at all.

"Come in." He opened the door and stepped into the room immediately, not wasting any time or showing any hesitance. It was important to act like this in front of Mr. Wilkinson.

"Ah Charles, your mother has already warned me that you wanted a word with me." He pointed to a chair for Charles to sit on.

"Sir, if you allow, I'd rather stand." Hands folded behind his back, he made sure to keep his voice confident. "There is something I need to tell you."

Mr. Wilkinson stood up, approached him and looked up to his third footman, always the stern butler. "Go on."

He cleared his throat. "I will leave this house next week." It was out, a few words hovering in the air between them.

Charles had expected Mr. Wilkinson to yell at him, tell him to leave his room at once and think about his impertinent behaviour and suggestion. Instead the butler stumbled backwards in shock and sank down on his chair. "Next week?" He rubbed his forehead with one hand, shook his head in disbelief.

Now the nervousness he had felt inside him threatened to show. He brought his hands to the front and clenched his fists several times, thus suppressing the urge to continue with his speech in a different way than he had planned to. "Yes sir. I want to leave service."

The butler spoke to his feet. "Your mother had mentioned something like that but I thought it was just something you had said in an argument."

"No, I meant it." He hoped Mr. Wilkinson could not hear the catch in his voice.

"This is on very short notice Charles, I hope you know that and are feeling sorry for it!" The austere butler was back. "And I also hope that you know what this means for your father and your mother in particular." He stood again. "You can go to bed now."

Charles opened his mouth. He hadn't finished yet. There were a few other things he had wanted to say. But Mr. Wilkinson pushed him out of his room, denied him a chance to explain himself.

=o=

Confusion and guilt plagued him that night. He had tried for a long time to shut out these strong feelings. Especially the guilt that ate its way into his thoughts. It had not been an easy decision, he had thought long about this step. It was not him simply running away from something he disliked. He would have done so, and had done so when he was still a child. For years his position in the house, the work, everything had felt wrong. Taking this final step had just been a matter of time. And he saw a chance in this advertisement. He had to grab it otherwise his courage would leave him again. Act fast, think later.

His fist landed on his pillow, with such force that his hand now hurt. John looked up from his book. "Something wrong?

"Nothing." He answered through clenched teeth before he unceremoniously let himself fall down on the covers, still wearing his full livery.

"If it is nothing then you wouldn't make such a fuss." The second footman put the book away on his bedside table, pushed his duvet away from his legs and sat up on the edge of his bed.

Charles growled into the pillow. "I've told you. It is nothing." Came his muffled answer. He really did not want to talk about his plans, not in front of John who was three years his senior and enjoyed his job as second footman immensely. He had often teased Charles that, as the daughter of head groom and housekeeper, he would certainly be butler of Downton Abbey one day. How could he tell this young man that this had never been his intention; that he would leave the house and everything behind in one week?

"Alright. Then please go to sleep, will you? It's late." He took the book again and continued with his chapter whereas Charles turned around and stared at the ceiling for a while. Like he had not done this for the last few weeks almost every night already. When he was sure that his thoughts had stopped for the moment he began to undress and wash himself. John blew out the candle on his side of the room, leaving Charles in the semi-darkness.

=o=

His dream returned. The singing, the man with the wagon, leaving the estate, happy and carefree. Still, this time the pictures conjured by his subconscious mind, had a bitter, even foul taste. Was he truly happy? Wasn't there this feeling directly in his heart that tried to warn him and told him not to go? Charles concentrate on the happy images instead, forced himself to blank out everything bad, everything that intensified this feeling of guilt.

When he woke up it was pitch-black in the room. No moon, no sunrise, the candle he had forgotten to blow out had burnt down. A thin film of sweat covered his forehead. Charles wiped it away with the sleeve of his pyjama top. He had dreamt again, hadn't he? But wasn't it a happy dream? He could not remember anything tonight though the state he was in and the fact that he was now awake did not speak for a pleasant dream.

He tried to get back to sleep, instead he tossed and turned, haunted by what had happened in Mr. Wilkinson's pantry.

=o=

His Lordship was not at all pleased to lose one of his footmen. Charles kept his back straight and stayed in the background while Mr. Wilkinson broke the news to their employer. When the butler had finished his brief speech, Lord Grantham addressed Charles.

"Are you sure about this?" How many times had they asked him this question? How many times had he answered that _yes he was sure._ As sure as one could be if one did not know exactly what to expect. Had they never wanted to change their lives? Try something different? Surely the first day in service for Mr. Wilkinson was also not a pleasant experience. Had he been sure back then?

"Yes, your Lordship. I am sure." He avoided to look directly into Lord Grantham's eyes, instead fixed his gaze on some book on the shelves behind the Earl.

"Well then. I hope you have given this enough thought. I wish you well. Should you ever want to return, I will not send you away." He held out his hand for Charles to shake. Something rather unusual between a nobleman and a servant. Charles nevertheless accepted the handshake and was dismissed afterwards.

He followed the butler out of the library and back downstairs towards the kitchen. "Charles, I want you to go and talk to your father now." He wanted to object but the look on Mr. Wilkinson's told him that any discussion would lead to nothing. "Your mother told me you haven't spoken to him for a week now."

Reluctantly Charles gave in. "John will take over for you at luncheon, take your time." His shoulders slumped even more. Now there was not even an excuse to leave the stables early. Mr. Wilkinson held his gaze for a while before Charles finally found the energy to turn around, walk along the corridor to the back door, pick up his coat from the coat rack and leave the house.

The backdoor closed behind him and he stood there, in the backyard, staring at the sunrays that filtered through the leaves of the old oak trees, leaving an ever changing pattern on the dusty ground. Was this how his life would be from now on? Not steady anymore, no more routines? Always changing, presenting him new opportunities and challenges every day of the week? If so, he would like it very much. Although it would take some time to get used to it after years of functioning like a clock. Precise, punctual, faultless. He did not know what the future would bring, if his plan would really work out. He would try it and see what would happen. The feeling of guilt would perhaps never fade. Charles had to live with it. But first, he had to talk to his father.

* * *

**TBC**

****(actually the next chapter is already written but I have to read through it first before I can publish it. It's a mess!)


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N How Charles Carson met Charlie Grigg for the first time.**

**I slowly let them escape from the worlds they knew. Thanks for your reviews and support so far! **

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The stables where a different world, so unlike the prim and proper rooms over at the house. There, everything had to be spotless and perfectly organised. Nature existed on the multiple paintings that hung on the walls along the endless corridors. Or in huge and elaborate flower bouquets on dinner and dressing room tables. The large windows allowed the sunlight to float into bedrooms and through the ceiling of the large hall. From everywhere the Crawleys could see their immaculate lawn, forest and surrounding grounds.

Out in the stables where his Lordship kept his horses, nature was not something exotic but a very real thing. Charles inhaled the stinging smell, a mixture of horse dung, straw and animals. He had loved this as a boy and it brought back so many memories. Together with his parents he grew up in the groom's cottage next to the main stables with the most expensive horses. The ones Lord Grantham kept for the fox hunt and for riding. There were also other buildings for the coach and farm horses. Not so valuable but as important as the others.

His father had tried to teach him a bit of his trade, how to ride, how to train a horse. Charles knew the basics but he had never felt the urge to follow in his father's footsteps. So they had given him work inside the house which he would now leave behind. Forever.

He walked along the small enclosure, decoying the chestnut he knew liked him, with a click of his tongue. The strong animal trotted towards him, blowing its nostrils nervously. Carefully Charles reached out his hand, waited for the horse to come closer so that he could stroke its head. The chestnut seemed to recognize him after a moment and sniffed at the open palm Charles offered. He could almost touch its beautiful shiny fur but his father had taught him not to rush things with horses. It was better to wait until the animal was fully convinced that it could trust the human that approached it. Finally the chestnut was so close that Charles could feel its breath on his face.

"Good boy", he murmured with a smile, stroking the warm fur.

"I see you still know what I once taught you." He jumped at the sound of his father's voice, causing the horse to jerk its head away and dash off to the middle of the enclosure. "Well, not all apparently."

William Carson leaned on the fence next to his son and for a moment they remained silent. Charles was not sure how to start the conversation, how to tell his father that he would definitely leave the next week and that even his Lordship had agreed. He was also not sure if he could share his fears, the doubts with his father. He wished he could simply walk away from everything and everyone without having to explain his decision over and over again.

"You will leave then?" He did not sound angry which surprised Charles. Instead he could clearly hear the hurt in his voice, the sadness too. His mother had been the same but of her, Charles had expected this reaction. Whereas his father had yelled at him, had pushed him away.

"I've already spoken to Mr. Wilkinson and Lord Grantham. They do not approve of my decision but they will let me go." He had to take a deep breath before he could continue. "Will you also let me go?"

His father averted his gaze from the horses and turned his head. Charles could see in his eyes that the anger William Carson had felt a week ago, had been replaced by a much stronger feeling: love; for his only son.

Charles swallowed hard. He was constantly torn between the overwhelming happiness and excitement of leaving service and the feeling of guilt and the doubt. Seeing his father so vulnerable was hard. But he would make him proud, just in a different way. "Please, dad. I need to do this."

His left hand that was resting on top of the fence was covered by William Carson's large and rough hand. It carefully squeezed the one of his son. "I hope it is the right decision. Good luck my boy."

=o=

His few belongings fitted into one suitcase and a small carpet bag. He wore his best suit and black coat. No hat. He had shined his shoes excessively last night. Although the dusty road would ruin them later anyway. Charles was ready. The last part of his plan would be put into action now. Together with the other servants he met at the backdoor around 7 pm. They had the evening off to enjoy the fair. Everyone would return to the house later, in time for the curfew set by Mr. Wilkinson and his mother. Except for Charles. He would take his bags with him to the village, accompanied by his mother. Impatiently and nervously he waited for the group to leave. Mr. Wilkinson, proudly wearing his bowler, made his way through the crowd to open the backdoor. Before he did so, he turned around once more to face them. Charles new that he counted them. He could see how his eyes wandered from face to face before he nodded and let them out into the night through the door.

Grace Carson was at his side immediately. "You've packed everything?" She asked and did so for the third time at least. "Said good-bye to your father? Do you have your money with you?"

"Yes mother. I've taken care of everything. Some of the money is inside my coat pocket, the rest is…" She interrupted him.

"Don't say this out loud. Someone might hear!"

Charles could not help it and had to laugh. "Alright. I only wanted to let you know that not all of my savings are stored at the same place."

His mother smiled back at him and then took his offered arm. Side by side they walked along the road in a crowd of people. Charles listened to their happy chatter. The excitement was palpable, his own included. Everyone was smiling, the cheeks flushed. Some of the older hall boys had linked arms with the scullery maids. His Lordships valet talked to the Ladies maid. All these familiar faces. He would miss them nevertheless.

=o=

There was no doubt anymore, no guilt when they arrived in the village. The fair was loud and boisterous, full of light, laughter, delicious smells. Fire-breather fascinated a larger audience, a dance band played. The other servants soon where gone, their group no longer existent. Mr. Wilkinson had gone off to get something to drink. Only Charles and his mother where left.

He could see that she had problems letting him go. She clung to his arm, her hand gripping it firmly, almost painfully. Grace Carson was not even able to look at him. "Mum. I think I should go now." He could only see her profile but it was enough to see the unshed tears glimmer in the yellow light cast by the small torches that illuminated the village square. Charles looked away briefly to control his own emotions, to swallow his own tears. His eyes searched for the man who had placed the advertisement that had led to all of this. He could not find him among the many attractions the fair had to offer. So he turned his attention back to his mother.

Grace Carson finally found the courage to look at him. Tear tracks ran along her cheeks and her other hand held onto his arm now too. "Promise me to be careful and to not do any foolish things, Charles."

He could not speak, only nodded his head.

"Write, please write often. I need to know what you are doing, whether you are well and safe."

She bit her lip, then wiped away some of the tears with the back of one hand. "We love you very much."

He let his suitcase and the bag drop to the ground and took her into his arms, held her there, rubbed her back, his hand moving in soothing circles, tried to calm her down. But Grace Carson could not stop crying. She sobbed and was not at all the ever so strong housekeeper anymore. Only the mother that had to let her child go. Charles could no longer hold his tears back now. He buried his head in her hair and cried. Not as much as his mother but the tears he shed were real.

After a while they let go of each other. He handed her a fresh handkerchief and she wiped her eyes, tried to smile. "Go now. It's your new life."

Charles squeezed her hand one more time before he picked up his suitcase and bag again. He did not turn around again, only walked on, his eyes once again tried to find the man he was looking for. He let them wander from one end of the square to the other until he finally found what he had been looking for. Determinedly towards the wagon that said "The incredible Charlie – Magician."

It was his new life, a new start, something he had longed for such a long time. Now that the moment was finally there, his knees felt weak, his voice was gone, his heart hammered in his chest. The man he assumed was the owner of the wagon, sat in front of it on one of the steps, preparing for his show.

"Hello there." He greeted Charles. "The show has not yet started."

Charles cleared his throat. "I've not come for the show." He began and then thought that he better should try again. "Well, I meant, of course I came to see your show. I've read your advertisement in the newspaper two weeks ago."

The other Charles grinned. "Have you indeed! I thought I had wasted money when I placed it."

"I read it. And I was wondering…" He had no idea how to ask this question. How did one ask for a job? He had never done this before, was totally inexperienced in such matters.

The other man obviously understood what he was trying to ask. "You want a job?"

"Yes sir." Charles tried to smile.

* * *

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N nanowrimo day 11 and an extra long chapter today. Please excuse any typos and odd word choices. nanowrimo means: no editing :)**

**enjoy reading and thank you again for your reviews! They help a lot and keep me motivated.  
**

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Anne was sent to their bedroom the moment they arrived at the farm. Margaret Hughes allowed no dissent about that. Reluctantly, her little sister climbed the stairs and stayed in their room for the rest of the evening.

"How was the fair?" her mother continued with her tea preparations. Elsie loved the smell of freshly brewed leaves it always calmed her a bit. Hopefully it would have the same effect tonight because she had made her decision.

"It was nice." She bit her lip, waiting for her mother to look at her again, so that she could break the news to her. "The music was wonderful."

A steaming pot of tea was put on the table in front of her. Her mother brought to cups, the white expensive ones they usually only used on Sundays. Father would not like this. "Did you dance with Joe?" Margaret Hughes asked and gave her a wink.

Elsie rolled her eyes. Everyone made it sound as if she and Joe would marry one day. She was only sixteen! They were not even courting properly because she did not want to rush into something she later regretted. Although they lived in a small village, Elsie had heard of the _fallen women_, poor young girls like her that had to earn a living by selling their bodies to strangers. Her mother did not know that she knew about such things. And she would never mention them in front of her parents. But Elsie had other friends, besides Joe, young girls and boys that had been to Glasgow or even as far as Edinburgh. The big cities were strange, unknown worlds, like different countries to her. Therefore she was always eager and curious to collect as much information about them as possible.

"No we have not. I wanted to take care of Anne. You know how she is like." Of course her mother knew that. Anne always forgot time and space around her when she was busy doing something. This also included going to the fair. Her little dreamer, they often called her.

Tea was poured into her cup and she added a bit of sugar and some milk before she enjoyed the warm beverage. "Mother", perhaps this was the moment to tell her about everything, her plans, what she had done behind her parents back. Right now they were like friends, not like mother and daughter. She would understand why Elsie had done all of this much better. "I wanted to tell you something else."

Margaret Hughes took a sip from her hot tea that flushed her cheeks and made her look so much younger. "Oh, does it concern Joe Burns?"

Elsie could not roll her eyes again. What she had to say was too serious to behave childish right now. "It is not." She took a deep breath. "I placed and advertisement in the newspaper earlier this summer." The teacup warmed her hands which had suddenly become cold as ice. She was hardly able to face her mother after this revelation but she could see how the teacup was lowered and put on the table. Some of the tea spilled on the table.

"You did what? What for? Elizabeth, do not tell me you offered yourself to…." There were indeed advertisements of that kind in some of the larger newspapers. She had seen them, read them, did not understand their meaning at first because the wording was so subtle.

Elsie looked up, tried to find her mother's gaze. Nervously she began to bite her lip again. "I did nothing like that mum, you have to believe me! I was looking for an employment." The disbelief on Margaret Hughes face was breaking her heart. Elsie had simply asked for a job as a housemaid in one of the larger estates around their village. They had spoken about this so many years ago. It was her chance to get away from the farm, the only possibility for her to live a better life one day. She kept it a secret because she was unsure about the outcome of such an advertisement. Would people actually read it? Would they believe a word she had written and give her a chance?

_Capable, educated young girl, used to hard work, speaks fluent English, looks for an employment as a housemaid. Preferably at a larger estate. Sixteen years of age, father farmer. _

After a month she had received her first reply. Others followed a few days later. Housekeepers had written to her, asked her to give them more information. Some even invited her for a job interview but Elsie had not found the courage to lie to her parents and leave unannounced one morning for an interview at a strange town, or a nearby village. "I will take on a job as a housemaid down in Inveraray."

Her mother's expression changed at that news. The shock gave way to a smile, a small one, but Elsie was convinced that she was forgiven her secrecy. "Why haven't you told me? Elizabeth this is such good news."

She found herself in the arms of her mother who held her close, stroked her hair and kissed her forehead. "And you don't mind that I leave you alone with dad and Anne?"

The front door flew open. "What's going on?" They both jumped at the sound of his voice. Her mother let go of Elsie and they stood stiff as statues in front of Aidan Hughes. "Has she finally told you Margaret? What she did? What she kept secret from us?" He closed the door with such force that more tea spilled from their mugs. "How dare you bring such a shame on us Elizabeth!"

He was a few steps away from them, his face red with anger. He was not drunk; Elsie could not smell the dreaded stench of ale. What was this all about then? What kind of shame had she brought upon them? She tried to remember something, anything to defend herself and then suddenly she knew what he was talking about. How it all made sense finally. The violence, the beating, the harsh words, the drinking. He knew about her advertisement, had interpreted it in the same way like her mother. Thought she would prostitute herself.

"I did nothing! Dad! It is not what you think! It never has been!" She yelled at him, for once not afraid of his presence because she knew she was in the right and protected: by her mother and by Anne, they would both take care of her in these last weeks before she would go, away from this.

Elsie could see how his body tensed, the fists clenched, ready to reach out. He would not risk it. Not now. "Margaret?" he asked, not looking at his wife, her mother.

"She is right Aidan. Elizabeth was looking for employment as a housemaid." After a moment of hesitation she added, "What did you know about this? She only told me know?"

Her father had never been able to talk to her like a parent. All he did was push her, yell at her, stare, treat her like a nameless farmhand. But never like a daughter. Because she was not supposed to be one. He had not managed to talk to her about the advertisement, his anger, his fear of losing her, of not being able to protect her. Instead he had let his emotions become physical.

"I saw it in the newspaper, a while ago." His voice was much calmer now, his face no longer flushed.

Elsie tried to calm down again, control her shaking hands and her breathing. She could tell her mother now that her father had beaten her, reveal the other secret. But she did none of it. "I got some replies and I will start working in Inveraray at the Campbell estate next month."

=o=

Saying good bye was not as hard as she had expected it to be. She would miss her mother and her sister, but neither the farm nor her father. It was a new life. Finally. Not the one she had dreamed of as a twelve year old, but that did not matter anymore. She would earn money from now on, could save it, perhaps become a teacher in a few years. There was still a chance for this.

Her mother had arranged a horse cart to pick her up and drive her to the nearest town. From there she would travel further south by train and stagecoach. Joe had offered her his help, wanted to accompany her but Elsie had denied him this privilege. They would see each other when she visited her family on her days off. Or he could come and see her in Inveraray.

A small bag stood next to her feet. The satchel with her beloved books and two framed pictures she held in her hand. "Goody bye then Joe." They shared a handshake.

"Take care Elsie. And write to me, please." He tried to smile although she knew it was not real. He already missed her it seemed and she would miss him too. As a friend, nothing more. Not yet.

Anne fell into her arms, buried her head on her shoulder and cried her heart out. "You cannot leave me here, Els", she sobbed. "Who reads to me? Who tells me stories?" She could hardly understand her through her tears.

"You are old enough to read books, Anne. And I am sure you will find someone else who can tell you stories. And by the way, aren't you too old for this too?" Elsie tried to bring a smile back to her sister's face, make their parting a bit easier. "I bet you will be the first to write me that you've found a nice boy to marry."

Anne's hand hit her chest. "Stop making fun of me." The tears had stopped and been replaced by a shy smile. "I will miss you."

=o=

No journey had ever been so tiresome and at the same time so exciting. Elsie had left her home in the early morning hours and now the big clock at the train station told her it was already two in the afternoon. Where had the time gone and why took it so long to travel to this place? She was almost there, only one short trip on the stage coach separated her from her new life. But still, she was nervous and impatient. Her bags were getting heavier with every stop. At first she had taken good care of them, not dropping them on the ground when it seemed dirty or wet. But when she got out of her last train all carefulness was forgotten. Unceremoniously she let them slip from her hands. Water from a puddle spattered the seam of her dress, small brown spots covered her carpet bag. It was one thing when her bags got dirty but another if her dress did. Carefully she maneuvered around the puddle, picked the bags up again and put them somewhere dry. With a fresh handkerchief she tried to rub away the stains, conceal them a bit. The housemaid should not look disheveled on her first day. After all, the first impression she made was the most important.

"May I help you Miss?" Elsie looked up, startled, from what she was doing, trying to figure out where this voice had come from and who was talking to her. A very tall man with dark brown hair and a very deep voice stood in front of her, lifted his hat when she met his eyes. "I am sorry if I frightened you but you looked as though you could need a helping hand?"

Elsie tried not to concentrate on that voice, it sounded so warm, kind and enchanting, much too deep for this young man. She assumed that he was not that old, maybe in his early twenties. He wore a grey suit and matching coat, fine clothes but a bit worn out. She tried to figure out if he really meant to help her or if this was one of the people her mother had warned her about. Young women travelling alone were often approached by men and in the end ended up on the streets, robbed, no money left, beaten, raped. It was one of the horror stories that she had refused to believe. Maybe this was the case in the larger cities where foolish young women looked for an adventure and forgot their good sense. She studied his face a while longer before she decided that he could be trusted. "Thank you very much Sir but I'm fine."

He nodded and smiled at her and Elsie assumed he would leave her alone now. "You should not rub the stains while they are still wet." The look she gave him, puzzled and thankful at the same time, made him blush a bit. "Again I am sorry, but I worked in service years ago. Let them dry then you can brush the stains out later." He lifted his hat again and bid her a good day before he disappeared in the crowd.

=o=

The house was huge, three storeys high, the biggest building she had ever seen. She would not call it a castle, because it had no battlements or towers, but it was also not what one would call a house. Large windows covered the front of it, a double door led into the garden that was an endless stretch of green grass. A forest formed a natural border in the east. She walked along the gravel path towards the main door, carrying her bag and the satchel. The remarkable, dark wooden door was three times her height and an impressive sight. Still, servants did not enter a house through the front door, she reminded herself but it was easier to find the way to the backdoor when one stood in front of the house already instead of walking around it in circles. She looked up, tried to make out the last of the windows on the third floor but could not see them. It was impossible to bend her neck any further. The house was simply too enormous.

She took in the rest of her surroundings. The small buildings a bit further away must be the stables. Another tree-lined path led there. A bit further behind her a herd of black sheep grazed in a huge enclosure. Elsie walked on, followed the path again, turned around the right corner of the house where it was covered in ivy, still in search for the door that would open her into her new life.

The back of Campbell Hall did not look that impressive. Wind and rain had weathered the sandstone more than at the front of the house, ivy twines covered almost every stone. Elsie entered a small backyard that she believed was the entrance she had been looking for. Wooden crates stood around, two young boys hurried out of a green door, wearing aprons. They picked up a few of the crates full of vegetables, and carried them inside. Elsie followed suit and found herself in a large corridor lit by gas lamps, four steps led down from the back entrance to the stone floor of the corridor. Cautiously she walked along the long illuminated passageway until she stood in a large hall with windows set high into the walls, close to the ceiling. Light streamed in and made this place look much more welcoming. Elsie looked around, tried to find someone who might help her, tell her where to find the housekeeper. She felt a bit lost now.

The two boys she had encountered earlier rushed past her, out again to carry the other crates inside. They must have been to the kitchen. Elsie could hear the typical sounds, clatter of pots and pans, a woman yelling something, a girl answering in a high-pitched voice. Everything was so different to what she was used to. The smells, the sounds, the light, the size. Maybe this house was too big for her, a wrong place to start her new life. She should have looked for something smaller. Here, everything and everyone certainly had to be perfect. Elsie was far away from being that. An inexperienced farmer's daughter that wanted to be a housemaid, that's what she was. She was ambitious and hardworking, clever and she learned fast. But would she be able to fit into this machinery that kept such a grand estate running?

"Hello there? Can I help you?" For the second time in one day, Elsie spun around, startled. This time a female voice had made her jump. The woman she now faced must be the housekeeper. In her black dress, white cap, and with a bundle of keys in her hand she emanated an unspoken authority. Elsie let go of her bags immediately and curtseyed.

"Ma'am my name is Elizabeth Hughes. I am the new housemaid." Her voice echoed from the stone walls and made her feel even smaller than she was.

=o=

Mrs. Taylor smiled at her and then eyed Elsie up and down. "Welcome at Campbell Hall, Elizabeth. I didn't expect your arrival until later today."

Elsie returned the smile. The housekeeper seemed to be a nice woman, not at stern as she had expected a woman in her position to be. "I left home very early Ma'am. I did not want to be late."

"I appreciate it when my girls are punctual." She played with the keys in her hand. "Well, we better continue this talk in my room. Follow me please."

Elsie took her bags and did as she was told. Another corridor, doors to the left and to the right. At the end of it, Mrs. Taylor opened one and motioned her to step into the room first. "I will send for one of the hall boys to bring your bags upstairs." She rang a little bell that stood on a small table next to the door. Elsie was impressed when only a few seconds later a young boy appeared on her doorsteps. "Steven, bring the bags upstairs please. She shares a room with Beth." Elsie could not help it and follow the boy with her eyes. He appeared from nowhere and disappeared into the darkness of the corridor outside.

"Beth will show you everything later. She will be at your side, help you, explain to you how this house works over the next couple of weeks." Mrs. Taylor sat down. "You can sit if you wish."

This was all so new, so unfamiliar that she was not sure how to react and act. Tentatively she sat down on the edge of the chair indicated to her, kept her back straight and her hands folded in her lap. "I am very grateful that you took me on Ma'am." She tried to keep her thick accent out of her voice.

"It is a bit unusual I know but you wrote that you are used to hard work and the girls that normally advertise never mention such a thing. And you have an education?"

Elsie nodded. "I've been to the local school until recently. I stayed there longer than one normally would, Ma'am."

"So you are eager to learn then?" Mrs. Taylor put the keys on the table now. "Because you have to. We have a large household, many young girls like you come here every year but the same number leaves after only a few months. It is important, Elizabeth, to keep in mind that this is not a job where you can lack discipline. You get up early every morning and go to bed very late."

She had expected this and her life so far had not been so different to what awaited her here. She would not compare life on a farm with life as a servant but there were enough similarities. In the end these had made her place the advertisement, because Elsie knew that she could do this job, was ready and prepared for it. "I will not disappoint you Ma'am."

"Good. The first rule you learn today is that I am Mrs. Taylor, not Ma'am. Every lady that comes to this house and it not an aristocrat is to be addressed as "Ma'am". Your employers are Lord and Lady Campbell or his Lordship and her Ladyship. But you will hardly ever talk to them. But keep that in mind."

"Yes, Ma…", Elsie started but corrected herself immediately, "Mrs. Taylor."

"Will we call you Elizabeth?"

For a split second she thought about this. She had been Elizabeth when her father was angry with her, when her mother wanted to emphasize something. Her teachers had called her that too. Most of her life she had been Els until Joe gave her a new name which she preferred now. "Please call me Elsie."

* * *

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N No time for the time jump :( but a bit of a characterisation for Grigg. **

**Enjoy.**

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Charles Grigg was a nice man, only a bit older than him but he had been on the road for half of his life. When he was only ten he had run away from home and ended up as a stable boy on a local estate. When one day a circus visited the town he lived in, he was drawn to this fascinating world of jugglers, wild animals, animal tamers, clowns and magicians. Without notifying his current employer he left over night and joined the circus with the plan to become famous one day. The money he earned there was never enough to leave this little group of enthusiastic hedonists. So he saved it, every penny until one day he was able to buy the horse cart that was now his home.

Charles loved to travel the country together with Grigg. There were no rules, no restrictions. They had to manage their money, could not spent a lot of it and Charles tried not to touch his savings or tell Grigg that he had actually more money than he pretended to have. Their acquaintance was still new and Charles had always been careful whom he trusted. Living at an estate such as Downton had taught him that.

During their first weeks he learned how to walk on a tight rope and to juggle. He got up early every day to practise his tricks and went to bed late at night after a successful show. The summer and autumn months of that year were the best he had experienced so far. He felt free and independent, not tied to the strict rules of a large household where he was only one replaceable small part of a much bigger organism made out of servants.

In November however their time on the road ended abruptly. The snow made it impossible to move on, most fairs had closed down in mid October already. Grigg had never spent a single thought on things like that when he had travelled on his own. He would simply stay somewhere during the winter, take on smaller jobs and live from what he had saved.

"We cannot go out in this weather." Charles tried to reason with him one morning. "Your horse is already very old. It won't survive the winter when we keep pushing it. Can't we rest somewhere for the winter?" They had spent the night in an inn close to Manchester. Rooms where not expensive and Charles would rather stay here and maybe perform at a local pub than go out into that dreadful weather again.

"We could…" Grigg stretched the word,"… but it will cost probably more than it will earn us." The last drop of beer disappeared in his mouth. Charles wanted to respond that they could save a lot of money by not drinking beer almost every night. He often preferred a glass of water or a cup of tea anyway. Alcohol clouded his judgment and his senses and he could not risk that.

"We are close to a large town. There are pubs we could perform in or small theatres. Ever thought of that?" He knew that his _partner _was the more experienced one when it came to survive during bad times, but Charles on the other hand had always been cautious and far-seeing, a characteristic he shared with his mother. The moment he thought about Grace Carson, his shoulders slumped and the enthusiastic glow on his face faded. He had not written her for three weeks now, had broken his promise already after only a few months.

"Of course I have. But when you're on your own it's easier to get along." He raised his hand to order another jug of beer. "So you are suggesting that we should look for a stage then?"

Charles nodded. It would be fun, he was sure of that, performing in front of a paying audience, in a real house, not out in the open where rain, storm or wind had often ruined their performance. People would come especially for them! "You placed an advertisement once, we could place another one as soon as we've found a place to perform."

The beer arrived and Grigg took a large sip. "Deal." With a handshake they sealed it.

=o=

Later that night Charles was lying on his bed, contemplating his idea and what it meant for his life. In case they found a permanent engagement he would be able to give his mother an address. It would bring her relief and him a chance to look for a job he could carry out during the day when he would not be on the stage. Maybe as an assistant in a local shop? Or as a waiter in a café? He smiled at that thought. His life was in his hands now. He could do with it whatever he wished and wanted to. This was something he should tell his mother, his father, all the people he loved and had left behind. Although it was already dark outside, he got up again and sat down at the small table in his room, dressed in his pyjamas, to write his first letter in three weeks.

He told his mother of the things he had seen and experienced, also told her that he still had all his savings and took care of those very carefully. He had already given her a detailed description of Charles Grigg and now added all the information she needed to know about their new plan. He filled two pages in his neat handwriting, read his letter again, folded it carefully and stored it underneath the pillow. Grigg sometimes had the bad habit to barge into his room at night and nose around. This was one of the few things Charles actually disliked about this man. But the positive things outweighed the negative ones.

=o=

The next morning Grigg decided to try his luck in some pubs and dancehalls he knew of. Charles stayed at the inn, looked after the horse, and then went to the post office to send his letter and a telegram. He wanted to inform his parents that they could expect a letter from him. Besides, he felt a bit guilty to not get in touch with them for so long.

All the streets were still covered with a lot of snow and he had to carefully clear a way through it. On his way, he went past several smaller shops. In each window he passed he looked for advertisements, a hint, anything that might tell him help was needed somewhere. But his search proved unsuccessful. Charles even asked at the local grocer if they knew of someone who might need a helping hand, but the answer was no. He bought himself some new shoelaces instead.

The rest of the day he spent reading at a table in the corner of the inn's dining room. Dickens, "David Copperfield", one of his favourite writers. Grigg had laughed at him when he found out that half of Charles's luggage contained books. The older men never had gotten a real education. He could read a bit, write a bit but that was all. Charles had been taught by his mother and also by Mr. Wilkinson who had helped him learn mathematics. He loved to get lost in a book or a short story. Especially when he grew up and hated hos job, the house, everything, he often sneaked into the library, picked a book, read a bit in it over night, and put it back the next day always hoping that nobody would notice it. When he found out that his mother was allowed to borrow books, he asked her to get him his favourite novels, the ones he had only read parts of. Over the years he had bought his own collection of novels.

"Waiting for your friend?" The innkeeper asked after Charles had sat there for at least two hours. "He's been gone for quite a long time now." He spat onto the floor and Charles averted his gaze disgusted by this behaviour.

"He is doing some research, Sir. This will take a while." He put down his book, risked a look at the man in front of him.

"You sure?" The innkeeper pulled out a chair and sat down, astride. "It's not the first time he's here. Usually there are some girls involved, you know what I mean?" He winked at Charles. "Maybe that's what's taken him so long."

Charles had seen Grigg flirt with everything that was female and beautiful, there was no denying it, but he trusted the man enough to believe him when he promised to find them a place to perform. The innkeeper might know him from his visits to this house but Charles had travelled with Charles Grigg for the past 3 months. "I am sure."

"Well, if you say so."

* * *

TBC


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N I had a hard time writing this chapter because I wanted to include this time jump. Then I noticed that I had Elsie's age wrong (1872 + 6 is not 16 but 18! So the year we started this journey was actually 1874!) and am as bad with timelines as Fellowes! **

**To sum it up: Charles Carson left Downton Abbey in 1874 / Elsie left her home in 1878. And in 1878 they both met briefly at the train station when Elsie is on her way to her first job as housemaid. tataaa!  
**

* * *

Grigg was still not back. Charles started to worry. He had been gone for most of the morning and half of the afternoon. Perhaps the innkeeper had been right and Grigg had not only done research from which they both would profit. Nervously Charles looked at his watch again. He had put his book away an hour ago, unable to continue with his reading, the words had started to make no sense anymore because too many other things occupied his mind.

From his place behind the bar, the innkeeper looked at him, a smirk on his face. It was the typical _I told you so _look he knew well enough from his mother. Irritated, he grabbed his Dickens and stood up. When he could not concentrate on his book maybe a short walk would clear his mind. Determined to not let Grigg ruin his day, he opened the front door and was greeted by the smiling face of his partner.

"Charles!" The smaller man exclaimed with glee. "Guess what I've found?"

He tried to smile back but the anger and frustration made it hard for him to stay calm. "I hope it is something good because it took you a long time."

Grigg slapped his shoulder then pushed him back into the inn. "Of course Charles."

=o=

That winter they had managed to make a deal with the owner of a small _etablissement. _A stage in the corner of his main room was regularly used by dance bands and dancers, usually young women. Charles had a difficult time ignoring those women because they wore practically nothing whereas Grigg gaped at them in a most disgusting way every evening. They performed in front of workers, business men, other shady characters. The first show was rather unsuccessful. He had to fight his stage fright whereas Grigg was full of enthusiasm and made fun of Charles continuously that night. Their audience liked the duo immediately after that first, rather bumpy performance.

After their third show people came to the club mainly to see them perform. At the end of each show, Grigg made one of the dancers walk around the tables with a hat in their hands to collect their additional tip. The money they made during this engagement was more than what they had earned at the fairs and Charles observed a peculiar change in Charlie Grigg's behaviour. The man had never considered this kind of work as fruitful, when Charles had suggested it, he had acknowledged that he did not really like being on a stage in winter. But now Charles had a hard time stopping him. They went from one show every second evening to one performance every day. Charlie Grigg had realized that this earned them more money than everything else ever had.

It was greed that was evident in his eyes.

=o=

**1878**

Four years had passed since Charles had left Downton Abbey. Four years he had spent on several stages, in night clubs, theatres, at village fairs. During summer he and Grigg continued to travel through the country, Yorkshire, Manchester, a bit of Scotland. Autumn and winter meant daily performances for them and a lot of money. They were now known as the "Cheerful Charlies" and in the region they regularly travelled, they were famous.

Although Grigg was often drunk after a particular successful show and did never reject the girls that seemed to be fascinated by him, Charles was still happy with how his life had turned out. People admired him, he was independent, he earned his own money and it was enough to stay in the better rooms of hotels and inns. They could even afford a new horse after Grigg's old mare had become too old to continue their journey with them.

Yes, he could say that he enjoyed his life and was glad that four years ago he had found the courage to do so. His parents were still not convinced that their son's _employment_ should be preferred over the respectable and secure position of a third footman, but they never used harsh or hurtful words in the regular correspondence they exchanged.

=o=

Late summer brought them to Scotland to a small town where people enjoyed their shows that much that he and Grigg were offered a permanent contract at a small theatre until next spring. It had been Charles who had done the negotiations, secured them two rooms above the theatre and a warm dish every day. He had learned how to talk to all these people, how to use his charm and his voice to convince them that the Cheerful Charlies would secure them not only a paying audience but also a lot of attention.

"This was great!" Grigg stumbled off the stage behind the curtain. "Have you seen this? How they cheered and applauded?"

Charles wiped away the sweat on his forehead. It was their second show that day and as much as he loved the attention their audience showed them, he was exhausted and hungry, yet happy. A sudden wave of satisfaction washed over him. "Yes, I saw it. We did it!"

"Well done, old boy. We need to celebrate this later." With celebration Grigg usually meant to drink until he could no longer stand and have fun with one or more girls at once. This would never become something Charles appreciated or was looking forward to. He would join the celebrations of course, but only for a glass of beer, maybe two. It was not that he did not like women, on the contrary. Only yesterday he had run into a very beautiful young girl at the local train station who had tried to clean her coat from some specks of mud. He had given her some advice, had been reminded of his days a footman, and she had smiled at him, shyly. The face, the hair, and especially her wonderful Scottish accent had made him blush.

Still, his silent decision must have been plainly visible on his face, there was no other explanation why Grigg suddenly hugged him and whispered in his ear, "Don't be afraid, they don't bite." Then he let go of him and rushed into the rooms they shared with some of the other artists, to change. Charles followed him, contemplating about Grigg's peculiar reaction.

=o=

When Charles entered the room, ready to get changed, Grigg had somehow managed to lure two young women into it already. One was sitting on his lap, sipping champagne from a glass he handed her. The other one had put her arms around Grigg's shoulders.

"Come in! Have fun!" Grigg grinned. Charles stood there, dumbfounded, staring at the scene in front of him. He knew that his partner preferred this kind of amusement, was by now familiar with the shamelessness Grigg displayed when it came to women. Every time he was witness to one of these orgies his first instinct was to run away, leave Charles Grigg behind and start his own business. He had saved enough money by now, was experienced enough to travel the roads on his own. But he stayed, did not leave his partner. Instead he accepted Grigg's extrovert personality and tried to suppress the uneasiness that overtook him in such situations. Above all insecurities that sometimes still plagued him, Charles Carson had never been a coward.

A set smile on his face he sat down next to Grigg and took the offered glass, took a few sips of the champagne. The girl that was not occupied with Grigg, inched closer to his side, put her hand on his knee. "So you are the other Charlie then."

He took another sip from the champagne and nodded, tried not to blush furiously.

"The tall, good looking one actually." She whispered in his ear.

"If you say so", he stammered. This was not a normal woman, those had never been so forward, so direct, so close to him. He knew that in the larger towns it was not uncommon to hire prostitutes for one's own amusement. Yet he had never rated Charles Grigg as a man who took pleasure in such women. He was a bit blunt, loud and vulgar sometimes. However, he too had his pride. Obviously their success had changed him. To what extent, Charles still had to figure out.

"Oh yes, you are." Her hand wandered higher on his thigh and he felt how his body reacted to the girl's touch. It was not an unpleasant feeling he had to admit that. Still, the way he had been brought up, the manners his parents had taught him caused a discomfort he could not suppress. His hands covered the young woman's hand and guided it to his chest instead. "And you are shy too. Oh I love shy men." She planted a kiss on his cheek and before Charles had the chance to defend himself, she covered his lips with a kiss.

* * *

TBC

(I know you wanted to know what happened between 1874-1878... me too but it would have been boring. The more interesting part is: what changed between them, what did Grigg do that made Charles get back to his old job?)


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N Sorry! I am one day behind with my updates and one day behind with writing... **

**we are still in 1878 and Charles is still travelling with Grigg. If you want: tell me what you think about this whole thing ;) and if I go into the right direction or not.  
**

* * *

He woke with an aching head the next morning, a dull pain hammered behind his eyes and made it difficult for him to open his eyes. When he finally managed to ignore the bright light that intensified his headache even more, Charles realized he was still in the changing room, on the couch, fully dressed. On the floor lay three empty bottles of champagne and several broken glasses. Carefully Charles tried to sit up, covered his eyes with his hands and had to take a few deep breaths to control the nausea that overcame him. After a while the room stopped spinning and he was able to look around. Grigg was not in here, the girls were gone and he could not at all remember what had happened to them.

His first instinct was to leave this room, get dressed and search for Grigg at once. Something must have happened or he would not have left him here alone with this mess. The owner of the theatre sure would not tolerate this behaviour at all and they could call themselves lucky if they still had a job in the evening. He turned around on the small couch, let his feet touch the ground and step by step he stood up but had to hold on to the wall because the room started to spin again. As soon as this feeling stopped, he made his way over to the door and was almost out when he saw the piece of paper on the floor. Someone must have slid it underneath the door.

He picked it up, careful not to move too fast and read the hastily scribbled message. Your friend was a bit too drunk. Sally now has a broken wrist. In case you want to know where your friend is: ask at the local police station. PS: you fell asleep before we could have any fun."

Police? Broken wrist? How was it possible that he had slept through all of this? He had always been so careful when it came to drinking alcohol and he did not have more than two glasses of champagne. There must have been something in it. An uneasy feeling overcame him, a slight panic, something he could not fully grasp. His hands checked the pockets of the tailcoat he was still wearing. His pocket watch was gone. The other clothes! His winter coat with the secret pocket! Charles turned away from the door and towards the small wardrobe. The clothes were still there, neatly folded or hanging on the hooks. His hands shook a bit when he felt for the money he had put inside his coat. There was still something in there; no one had discovered his savings. But the change he had carried in his left pocket had disappeared.

His panic was replaced by anger. It was all Grigg's fault! He had hired the girls and Charles was sure that it was them that had tricked the two men.

=o=

When he arrived at the local police station, properly dressed now, even wearing his hat, the constables at first did not believe that he was indeed the man Charlie Grigg had mentioned in his drunken state last night.

"Mr. Carson are you sure you are acquainted with this Mr. Charles Grigg?" The suspicion in the constable's voice almost made Charles smile. His years of being trained to look prim and proper at all times did again pay off today.

"I _am_ sure. Can you tell me what has happened last night?" He wanted to hear the full story from an uninvolved person first before Grigg had a chance to placate him with one he had made up, probably inventing all kind of dubious excuses what has happened last night.

The policeman gave a short account of last night's events and Charles did not want to believe his ears at first. "You are telling me that Mr. Grigg really had broken the young ladies wrist?"

A grin on the face of the constable told him that _young lady _was definitely the wrong expression for the woman who had been in their changing room last night. "I would not necessarily call them like this if you understand what I mean. But yes, he was a bit too rough. Apparently a guest witnessed the scene and called the police. He put on record that Mr. Grigg was accompanied by two young women and when one of them refused to kiss him, he became aggressive."

He knew Grigg easily lost his temper sometimes but it had never been this bad. "But the young woman is fine now?" He had to know this.

The constable nodded. "A doctor took care of her but as far as I know she left the hospital right away."

Charles sighed, wondering what to do now. On the one hand it teach Grigg a lesson if he left him here for the rest of the day. On the other hand they had a contract, were obligated to appear on stage tonight as a duo, _The Cheerful Charlies._ Although Charles was not feeling cheerful at all at the moment. What was happening at the moment was not what he had looked for, four years ago.

=o=

"You have to believe me Charles! They must have tricked us!" Grigg still sat behind bars. They had let Charles in to talk to him so he was sitting on a chair in front of the small prison cell, trying to keep his voice and anger down and under control. "I would never have done such a thing!"

"But you _did! _That's the thing." He answered through gritted teeth. Charlie Grigg had changed, that much was sure. Charles had suspected it for a while now, beginning that first winter when the prospect of a regular income by performing on a stage had made them both happy but in a different way. For Charles it was a relief and for Grigg it simply meant more money he could spend. Over the years, Charles had gotten used to Grigg's personality, was conversant with the bad habits of drinking, occasional gambling and women. It had never really bothered him. However, now Grigg had taken it too far.

"The woman has a broken wrist now." He hissed. "And my pocket watch is gone too." Charles withheld the fact that money was also missing from his coat pocket. "They might have taken it as a means of payment after you outburst." There were a few more thing he wanted to say, or better, yell at Grigg at the moment, but the man interrupted him.

"We can buy a new watch Charles. I replace it and everything's going to be fine again." Charles was not an aggressive person but after this comment he felt the urge to punch Grigg in the face.

"No it is not fine! Not at all!" This was the first dispute between them.

=o=

His decision was made. Charlie Grigg would stay in prison for the night. Charles was not willing to pay the bail to set him free again. This also meant that they would breach the contract. He could not do the show on his own, a single Cheerful Charles. Besides, he did not feel anything close to cheerful that day. All his talent was needed to convince the owner of the theatre to let them stay there, continue with their show over the winter. The money the theatre lost thereby would be deducted from their monthly payment, or from Grigg's share of the profit, Charles thought grimly.

Instead of working that evening, he decided to go for a walk, fresh air usually helped him to clear his head, revive him. He needed to make sure that his decision still made sense, that he still loved what he was doing. Charles seldom found the time to explore the city they stayed in. He walked along the narrow streets, turned left, right again, passed by old houses, poorer quarters of the town, the town square. In the distance he could see a larger building, a castle or manor. It reminded him of the place he had left behind all those years ago. Servants would prepare the supper right now, running up and down the stairs, laying tables, polishing silver, cooking elaborate menus. He could hear their voices inside his head, the laughter, the curses, the sighs.

Sometimes, he had to admit that, he missed this life. He had never thought that there would come a day when he actually thought back to his life at Downton Abbey. After all, he hated the rules, the constant reminder that he was a servant and not entitled to have an opinion or make decisions for himself. Last night and what he had experienced toady had perhaps also changed him a bit. Sometimes it was good to have a few rules, someone who told you what to do and who took the responsibility for your actions.

* * *

TBC


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N yes, there will be some romance between them - but it will take a while until I get there. Elsie is only 16 at the moment. There'll probably will be another time jump soon after I've sorted out how Charles returns to a life in service. For now: Young Elsie Hughes's first month as housemaid.**

**Enjoy!  
**

* * *

She got up early every day still but she was not the first on her feet in the mornings at Campbell Hall. Scullery maids or kitchen maids woke her up. Elsie had climbed up one step of the social ladder. On the farm she had been at the lowest end, right at the bottom. Now she enjoyed the one hour she could spend longer in her warm bed each morning immensely. Beth on the other hand hated to rise early and could not understand that Elsie was grateful for their early start of the day.

"How can you be so positive about this?" she asked. "It's awful." Beth turned around once more and covered her head with her pillow.

"You did not grow up on a farm", was her simple reply. "I had to get up much earlier there." She pushed her duvet off her body and stretched her legs and arms.

"Stop being so cheerful, please!" Beth mumbled from under her covers.

After three month in the house Elsie already felt so familiar with everyone and everything that she could not help it but tickle Beth's left foot. It stuck out from underneath her duvet. At first nothing happened but Elsie could hear the suppressed laughter. She tried it again and her effort was rewarded by Beth throwing her pillow in the general direction of Elsie's bed. "Now get up before Mrs. Taylor gives us the men's bedrooms again."

=o=

As expected the work as a housemaid was almost as tiring and hard as the farm work she was used to. There was one big difference though: nothing really smelled bad and there was hardly any dirt, only dust and the occasional muddy footstep on the carpet. Some of the girls found it disgusting to empty the chamber pots in the morning, Elsie did not care. It was better than cleaning stables.

The housemaids took care of the large common rooms first. Bedrooms could not be entered before the Lord and Lady of the house and their two children were downstairs for breakfast. Elsie's first task every morning was to draw back the heavy curtains and then open the large double windows. It did not matter that winter was close. The house needed the fresh air and she enjoyed the smell of the grass, the forest, nature in general because it brought back happy memories from home and made her feel at home at this place even more.

"It's so cold already", Beth complained after Elsie opened the third window in the library. "Can't we just keep them close for once?"

Beth had been in service for one year already and would soon turn 18. Although she had taught Elsie a lot in her first weeks, Elsie soon found out that the young housemaid was actually a bit lazy and crabby sometimes. She liked to complain about things when they were only amongst themselves. As soon as Mrs. Taylor was near, Beth transformed into the ever obedient servant. Elsie on the other hand tried to make a good impression at all times. She was still new and a few of the servants had not stopped to eye her suspiciously. She could not make any mistakes as long as she was the young girl from further north with the peculiar accent. _She is from a farm_, they whispered on the quiet_, her mother send her here because she had flirted with all the boys, she is here to learn some discipline and order. _They all believed Elsie did not know that they gossiped behind her back about her. And in her first two weeks their words had really hurt her a lot. She had cried herself to sleep too often, feeling miserable and lonely. What did it matter that she had found a way to leave her home and start a new life if the people she thought were on her side now, were not better than the ones she had left behind?

But then her capability to learn and work fast and efficient had impressed Mrs. Taylor the old housekeeper. She never had to remind Elsie of any of the rules they had explained to her on her first and second day. She had memorized them as quickly as the different tasks she learned. How to make a bed, how to dust a chandelier, what it meant to really clean something, not just wiping the dust away. _You are smart girl, Els, you know that. _Her mother had told her before she had left. And she was always fond of learning something new.

"Would you like to be in this room without any fresh air all day?" she opened the last window, took the liberty to inhale the fresh air deeply and look at the park that stretched behind the house until the edge of the forest. Not a single tree or house restricted the view. All Elsie could see was green grass and the bare trees in the forest covered in the early morning mist.

"They have plenty of other rooms they could use." Beth plumped the cushions on the settee, then proceeded to take care of the small tables. "And besides, we let in fresh air for twenty minutes and they are in here for hours."

Elsie rolled her eyes. "Of course they are but they ring for one of us to open the windows during the day too." One last curtain was drawn back to reveal a hidden door in the huge bookshelf.

=o=

As soon as the rooms downstairs were ready for the day, the servants took their breakfast. This routine was not so different from the one she was used to on the farm either. Beth always complained about having to work before she had a bite to eat. Elsie enjoyed breakfast and thought it was some kind of reward for the work they had already accomplished. Besides, the kitchen maids waited at her, poured her the first cup of tea and also took care of cleaning the table and the dishes later. All of this she had done additionally to her other tasks at home.

The food was delicious, of course Beth had complains about this too, but Elsie loved it, enjoyed the porridge each morning, the fresh bread, jam and honey. She was about to take a second cup of tea when one of the bells rang. Mrs. Taylor looked at the board. "Elsie, Beth, the ladies maid has finished dressing the two girls. You can go up and take care of the rooms."

Elsie rose from her chair, curtseyed and quickly made her way over to the stairs. Beth should be close behind her but when she turned around to talk to her and ask her a question, the housemaid was not there. Instead she heard Mrs. Taylor raise her voice. "Beth! Hurry up now!"

Amused, she shook her head. Beth would never learn.

=o=

The Campbell's had two daughters, Emily and Charlotte. It felt odd at the beginning to be the servant of two young girls that could be he sisters. Emily was ten and Charlotte turned fourteen a month ago. Elsie was not much older than them but she was their servant, one they seldom saw but who was always there in the background. When she got up early, the young girls were still fast asleep. During Charlotte's French lessons, Elsie enjoyed a few minutes of rest in the servant's hall next to the kitchen to read in one of her books before she continued with her work. Their worlds were so far apart although they lived in the same house. So far Elsie had only been amongst people of the same social class. Of course they were not all farmers in her village but when she spent an afternoon with the butcher's daughter they never cared about class or what their parent's did to earn a living. Here, everything was different.

There was a downstairs, with servant's hall, kitchen, all the different storage rooms, the rooms for butler and housekeeper. And there was the world above it. Large, bright, beautifully decorated dining rooms, a library, bedrooms, drawing and sitting rooms. The difference between these two worlds was difficult to understand at first. She had never thought herself as being of a lower class and status but here she somehow was. Still, Elsie did not mind it. This was work, it had been her choice.

=o=

One of the doors to the young ladies bedrooms stood wide open when Elsie and Beth approached them. Someone sang quietly and Beth began to giggle, covering her mouth with her hand. "Is this Miss Sullivan?" The ladies maid to the girls was a small, blonde girl, shy and not very attractive according to the footmen. Everyone made fun of her and no one really knew why she was chosen for the position. Elsie liked her because of her kindness and her naïve thinking.

"Shush, if it is her, let her sing." Elsie tiptoed towards the open door and took a peek around it. It was in fact Miss Sullivan. Not only was she singing but also dancing a bit. Now even Elsie had to suppress her giggles. "Let's not disturb her and maybe do the other room first", she whispered but Beth was already at her side to also have a look. Unlike Elsie, she now fully broke out in laughter. Miss Sullivan immediately stopped what she was doing, her face white with shock.

"Who is it?" Her voice was shrill.

Elsie had to bite her lip to calm down before she was able to answer the question. "May we come in?" She straightened her back and adjusted her apron and cap.

"Elsie?" She could hear Miss Sullivan walk towards the door where Beth was still having a problem calming down. "Is that you?"

Two steps to the right and she appeared from behind the open door. "We are here to take care of the bedrooms now." A small smile was still on her lips but the urge to laugh out loud had blessedly subsided.

A deep, relieved sigh escaped the young ladies maid. "And I thought you were Charlotte! Whatever you saw, please don't tell anyone."

Gossip was what kept the house alive and it usually travelled fast. Elsie never indulged in it, probably because she still was also one of the other servants main object of interest. She would not say a word but she could not be sure about Beth's trustworthiness. "Not a word, promised."

=o=

"She sang! And danced! In the middle of the room!" Beth told the story during tea time. As much as Elsie tried to ignore it, she was unable to avoid it completely. There weren't many places she could go to be on her own. So she had to sit at the large table in the servant's hall when they had a moment to relax. She was sure that there was a place for her to hide, be herself, take her book with her and be alone for a while, somewhere in this house or on the grounds surrounding it. She only had to find it.

"Elsie, is everything alright?" Mrs. Taylor was sitting next to her, writing something down in one of her ledgers.

Startled, she put down the book she was not really reading anymore. "Yes Mrs. Taylor, everything's fine." She tried to smile but it did not reach her eyes. The housekeeper seemed to notice it.

"Do not listen to Beth. She has always been like this." Mrs. Taylor closed the large book and looked at her. "All housemaids love gossip. You will learn to ignore it or you will on day enjoy what they have to tell."

The woman was always so kind to her and Elsie wished she could tell the truth, that the reason for her absentmindedness was not Beth's behaviour but the fact that they made fun of someone who had done nothing wrong at all. She also could not tell the housekeeper that she sometimes wished to have a moment for herself where no one would disturb her. To sort her mind, think about the day and résumé it. "I think I prefer to ignore it."

* * *

TBC


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N You will find a little surprise at the end.**

**Enjoy!  
**

* * *

"We have our half day off next week, Elsie!" Beth sat on the edge of her bed, combing her long dark blonde hair before braiding it. "What will you do?"

She was reading her book, _Frankenstein_, and did not really pay attention to what the other housemaid was saying. The story was too gripping to put the book down now. She turned another page, continued to read by the flickering light of the gas lamp, one more sentence, then another one. It was one of the best books she had ever read and thanks to his Lordship, who had allowed her to take it from the library, she had been given the chance to read it.

One day, Elsie had still been in the room, not finished with the dusting yet, and was reading the gold engraved titles on the book's spines, Lord Campbell entered the library and asked her kindly what she was doing there. She turned around, curtseyed, kept her eyes to the ground and wished for a large hole to swallow her. Mrs. Taylor would not approve of her behaviour, being late and seen by his Lordship because she had allowed her thoughts to wander while she worked. Concentration, discipline, efficiency, these three things were important to the housekeeper.

"I am sorry mylord. Please excuse me." She wanted to turn around and leave the room immediately, run downstairs and ask for a short break. Embarrassment caused her cheeks to flush bright red and there was no possible way to hide it.

"Don't be. You were looking at the books if I'm not mistaken. Can you read?" He did not know her name, none of the family members knew it. Elsie did not blame them for this. So many servants worked at Campbell Hall. Probably every other week someone new was hired and familiar faces left service that it was impossible even for her to learn all the names of those she worked with.

"Yes mylord. I went to school." Elsie found the courage to look up from the ground and face her employer though her cheeks still felt as if they were burning. What she had not expected was the smile on Lord Campbell's lips.

"Your parents did you a favour then." He put down the newspaper he was holding all the while and Elsie saw this as her chance to excuse herself, get out of this awkward situation at once.

"If you excuse me mylord." Another curtsey and a quick turn and she would be out of here. Once more she was interrupted.

"Wait! Not many of your kind can read. You can borrow some books if you want. Ask Mrs. Taylor. She will help you."

Since that day, Elsie frequently knocked on the housekeeper's sitting room door to ask for a new book. This week, Mary Shelley had been her choice and she had almost finished it by now.

"Elsie!" Beth was still talking and it sounded like her name. So she raised her hand to let her know to be quiet for just a few more seconds. Only a few more sentences before the chapter ended. "No, you listen to me know." Beth took the book from her hands, closed it and put it on the small table between their beds.

"Beth! This was rude! Never do this again!" She spoke to her as if the other girl were Anne. To be honest, sometimes Beth behaved exactly like Anne although she was much older than her little sister. Stubbornness knew no age apparently. "I was just finishing the chapter." Elsie hoped the anger was visible on her face while she picked up her book again and searched for the page she had stopped at. With an audible, irritated sigh, Beth let herself fall on her bed and then started to let her fingers tap a rhythm on the small table.

This irritated Elsie so much that she had to reread the last two sentences again and again until she gave up and slammed the book down on the mattress. "What is the matter with you?" Her voice was thick with fury, her accent much more pronounced than usual.

Instead of being cross with Elsie for not paying her attention earlier, Beth sat up and smiled at her. "We have our half day off and I was wondering if you would like to go to town with me."

"That's all?" She furrowed her brows in disbelief.

"Yes, that's all. And I have asked you before but you did not listen. There is a show at a theatre I would like to see. Peter said it is really good and funny too and not so expensive."

Elsie rolled her eyes. "Alright. I will come with you but only if Mrs. Taylor allows us to go all the way into town."

=o=

Of course their time off was not spent between the two of them. Mrs. Taylor and Mr. Jenkins the butler only allowed the journey into town when two of the footmen and another maid accompanied them. As a group of five they started the walk down towards the town, thirty minutes along the river and close to the forest. Beth had her arm linked with Elsie's and was humming a tune. Their breaths condensed in the cold November air and their tempo was faster than usual. Soon Elsie joined in with the humming and a moment later all five of them were loudly singing Christmas carols until the town came into view.

"I haven't told Mrs. Taylor about the theatre", Beth whispered when they approached the high street. "You won't give me away, will you?"

Elsie shook her head. She did not want to get into trouble and what Beth had told her about the show had made her curious. As soon as the other three left their group to mind their own businesses, she would gladly join Beth in her plans.

"We need a little lie now, otherwise the others will tell Mr. Jenkins or Mrs. Taylor about it." Beth stopped in front of a shop window that displayed an assortment of hats and scarfs. "Look at these, Elsie!" Her voice was loud enough for the other's to overhear. "Care to go in with me?"

"Girls", snorted one of the footmen and the two boys parted company. Unfortunately the other maid looked very interested and smiled at Elsie.

"Can I come with you?" She asked shyly.

=o=

Beth made Victoria promise to keep silent about their plan but Elsie had not doubt that the kitchen maid obey. She was too shy and used to be subordinate to everybody else in the household. They were only housemaids but one step further up in the strict hierarchy.

It took them a while to find the theatre because Beth had not paid close attention to Peter's descriptions. Only when Elsie asked a young gentleman for directions , did they finally find the street and the house they had searched for. From the outside the place looked unexpectedly inviting. White washed walls, large colourful posters in the windows announcing the shows and several lit lanterns hanging from the projecting roof in front of it. People were already entering the building, gentlemen and some ladies but also normal people like them. Elsie studied the posters. _The Cheerful Charlies. _This actually sounded like a lot of fun. She had never been to the theatre or anything like it so she did not know what to expect.

"Come on, let's go inside." Beth ushered them in into a great hall decorated with a large, crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. A queue formed in front of a counter where the guests could buy their tickets. Elsie had a look around. It all looked so grand and expensive and she wondered if they would be able to afford something like this at all.

It did not take long until it was their turn to purchase a ticket. The cheapest ones at the side, where you weren't able to sit down but close to the stage. Excitement started to rise within her, a peculiar feeling she was not able to grasp fully. People pushed them inside a dark room with a stage at the other end, further down the hall. They moved forward until they had found their place. Red curtains, wooden chairs upholstered in purple velvet, another chandelier and so many people around them. Elsie held her breath, waiting in anticipation what would happen next.

Lights went on, the curtains were drawn back and a tall man wearing a top hat appeared. In a very confident sounding voice he announced the _Cheerful Charlies_ and the next thing Elsie remembered was music and applause. Because a man entered the stage she had seen before, months ago at the train station. At first she was not sure that it was indeed him but then he started to talk to his partner, the other Charlie, and Elsie held her breath. It was indeed him!

=o=

"What is it?" Beth hissed. "Have you seen a ghost?"

All Elsie could do was nodding her head which caused her friend to laugh out loud. "Don't be ridiculous." Beth continued to watch the show whereas Elsie's gaze was fixed on the tall Charles in front of her, following him with her eyes, not really paying attention what he was actually doing. Some juggling, magic tricks, she supposed. It was his smile and his voice that fascinated her and created this funny feeling in the pit of her stomach. Somehow it felt familiar, like something she had experienced ages ago but forgot about.

She applauded, smiled, laughed out loud, cheered with the other people in the audience. It was the best entertainment she had experienced in years. Beth even whistled shortly before the two men took a break and the curtain closed for the intermission.

People got up from their seats to get some fresh air, Beth and Victoria quickly made their way towards the now empty chairs and sat down. Elsie could not move. She was staring at the stage as if the show was still on, hoping to see the tall Charles again, alone.

"Elsie." Beth called from behind her, amusement in her voice. "They bewitched you, did they?"

Slowly she turned around and hoped the smile was gone from her lips. She was not keen on letting Beth know that she had seen one of the performers before. Exhausted Elsie sat down next to Victoria. "Thank you for taking me with you, Beth."

"I told you it would be brilliant." The older girl crossed her arms in front of her chest and smiled smugly. "But before we enjoy more of it, I would really get some fresh air too." She got up and Victoria followed suit. "Elsie?"

She was lost in thought again when she heard her name. "No thank you. I'll stay here."

=o=

The feeling won't subside. Inside her everything was in a turmoil, upside down, out of order. And she could not get that ridiculous smile off her face at all. She sat there staring into no particular direction, trying to sort out her feelings but did not succeed. She had only seen this man once, had not even been sure if he should allow him to talk to her. The advice he had given her had been very helpful in the end. Brushing the dried stains out had worked. What was it that fascinated her about him so much? She did not even know him, was not even sure if Charles was his real name. Hadn't he mentioned that he had been a footman once? Why was he on the stage now?

"Miss?" Elsie almost jumped when she heard the voice she had daydreamed about close behind her. "Can I help you?" She could not look at him, even though the lights were dim in here. He would be able to tell with one look that she had been thinking about him. But it would be rude to simply ignore him. So she took all her courage and got up from her chair, turned around slowly.

"Wouldn't you like to get some fresh air like the others?" His voice was so kind, like his face and his eyes. Elsie tried hard to stop her lips from smiling.

"Oh no. I enjoy being here too much. It is the first time I've been in to a theatre, you know." She regretted her confession the second she had said it. This man was certainly not in the least interested in her past. To her surprise he answered her silly confession with a smile.

"We have met before, haven't we?" Only a few steps separated them from each other and he took the liberty and closed the distance between them a bit.

Elsie bit her lip and swallowed hard. "I think so." When in fact she was sure.

"At the train station. I remember you." The smile broadened.

* * *

TBC


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N thank you for your wonderful reviews! I know this story is not about "Chelsie", there is not Chelsie fluff in this, there is not even Downton Abbey in this. But I promise that all your patience will be rewarded in the end. I plan 5 more chapters (2 of them already written) in which they are both still at different places. But by the end of this week: THEY ARE FINALLY BOTH AT DOWNTON ABBEY :)**

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He could not believe his eyes, or his ears. The young girl that stood there in front of him in the dark theatre was indeed her, the Scottish lass he had ran into at the train station so long ago. She was shy, was not really able to look at him, her face slightly flushed. How old might she be? Not yet eighteen, Charles thought. Still a girl, but her appearance, the way she stood there, albeit shy but with a back held straight and proud, made her look much older and mature.

"Please accept my apology. I didn't mean to startle you." He wanted to be a bit closer to her, not too much but he needed to see her face more clearly, hear that Scottish accent. "Neither now, nor at the station."

"It's alright. Thank you for your advice though. It really worked." There was a small smile on her face now. "I never thought you were an artist."

He rubbed his neck, a bit embarrassed by her comment. "Well…"

She interrupted him. "You said you were a footman once, if I remember correctly."

So she had been thinking about him too? Their encounter had been so brief that he sometimes wondered whether he had imagined it. "You remember correctly."

"My name is Elsie Hughes, nice to meet you." She had the courage to hold out her hand which he found rather brave and forward. He took it, shook it and assumed it was now time to introduce him too.

"Charles Carson." Her hand was small and soft but her handshake firm. "Nice to meet you too." He let go of her hand after he had held it too long already and tried to fill the silence with another question. "Are you from here?" After all they were in Scotland and she was Scottish.

"I am a housemaid over at Campbell Hall." She had averted her eyes again and looked over her shoulder into the approximate direction of the place she just mentioned. Charles assumed that she meant the huge, castle like building he had seen further away, outside of town.

=o=

"Who was this nice girl you were talking to during our break?" Grigg sat in their changing room, feet on the table and a cigar in his right hand. The incident with the prostitutes had not really changed him. He was still often too arrogant for Charles liking, too self-opinionated. But they were a team and he could not leave the man now or Grigg would do something even worse than breaking a prostitute's nose.

It bothered him that at one point he had taken over all responsibility: for their shows, contracts, their rooms, everything, even for Grigg himself. One thing was missing though. Grigg still handled their money. He had always done it and he continued to do so. Every evening Charles made sure that his savings where still there, checked their earnings secretly. His confidence was declining gradually since the night Grigg had been arrested by the police. Therefore he would not tell him now whom he had talked to, would not mention the girl's name, occupation or the place she lived at in Charles Grigg presence.

"Apparently she came to see the show with her friends", was all he said for now.

"Like all the other people in the audience." Grigg took another pull of his cigar. "You looked very familiar with her."

Charles clenched his fist, tried to control his anger once again. "Did you spy on me?"

"No, not at all. I just observed." Grigg removed his feet from the table and got up, cigar still in his hand. "She was pretty. And pretty young. I thought you don't do girls?"

One of his fists almost reached out to hit Charlie, wipe that smile off his face. But Charles had never been an aggressive man and he would not let Charles Grigg turn him into one. "Just leave her alone."

=o=

He could not sleep anymore. Ever since that brief encounter he saw her face whenever he closed his eyes. That shy smile, brown hair, hesitant smile haunted him. Never before had a woman or a girl made such a lasting impression on him. She was too young for him and he was not the kind of man who pursued young women to have his baser need satisfied. Unlike Grigg, Charles never had gone further than kissing the women his partner brought to their changing room. Even this felt wrong but he did not want to take advantage of the women, despite the fact that they had offered their _services _to them voluntarily.

He needed to get her out of his mind, soon. There was nothing he could do about her anyway. How would she react if he appeared at Campbell Hall? What would she say? What would he say to her? He had never asked a girl out before and was not even sure how one did such a thing. Besides, she worked there as a housemaid and he was a man who earned his money by doing magic tricks on some stage in the village theatre. Charles did not consider this as an occupation a woman would accept as a proper one. Especially not when she worked in service and was surrounded by rules and propriety all day. No, he had to stop thinking about her.

Perhaps they could end their contract early and move on, travel to a different town, further south, back to England. Charles turned around, faced the wall and closed his eyes again. She was still there.

=o=

When the first snow fell, the town was transformed into a dream like place. Everything was covered in white, lanterns were hung from the top of the houses. It was the most beautiful thing he had seen so far at Christmas. Not even at Downton Abbey had the season spirit been that infectious as in this small town. He was amazed at the friendliness of the inhabitants, their smiles and joyous laughter.

They had decided to take a break at Christmas. Grigg had protested at first, tried to argue with him but in the end, Charles had won their discussion. No one would go and see their show when their families and friends were much more important during this special time of year.

While Grigg had stormed off, probably to have another drink in one of the local pubs, Charles enjoyed his free afternoon and took a walk, explored the town once again.

People knew him by know and the gentlemen ifted their hats when he passed. Women smiled at him, most of them friendly, the younger ones sometimes seductively, and he returned those smiles. Most of the time trying to not give them false hopes. He was not interested in a hurried, little affair like Grigg. And this housemaid was still in his head. Not every night, her image was slowly fading, but often enough to keep him awake.

=o=

Campbell Hall was there, in the distance, on the hills. He could see is when he stood on the village square. He wondered if Elsie was still there because he had not seen her since that encounter at the theatre. But why shouldn't she? She was still young, had probably only started to work at this place unlike him who grew up on a large estate, always surrounded by the grandeur, the fine clothes, food and noblemen. He knew this world inside out, knew its negative sides and the positive ones. It had one day be part of this life, his whole life.

His hands disappeared deep into the pockets of his winter coat while he stood there, staring into the distance, at that castle with the many windows. Should he go there and ask for her? Or was this too much of a risk. After all, they had only talked for a very brief time. They knew each other's names and occupation. Before he could sit down with her and have a lengthy conversation, people started to return to their seats and the second part of the show began. He had not seen her afterwards, probably never would again. Assuming she only had a half day off every second week, probably in the afternoon when he was busy, there was no chance to meet her again. Charles sighed and averted his eyes, walked back towards the theatre, tried to forget about her, about his feelings. It was nonsense.

* * *

TBC


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N silly chapter. Thanks again for your reviews. They are precious 3**

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How she worked up the courage to introduce herself all of a sudden and even offer him her hand, Elsie could not remember. All she knew was, that she felt calm and relaxed in his presence and that this feeling, together with the odd sensation in the pit of her stomach, was a mixture she could not resist or ignore. So now she knew his name. But that was about it. She had wanted to talk to him, ask him how he ended up on the stage when he had once been a footman. There were so many questions and none of them was answered. People came back in, looked for their seats and he had excused himself once more and was the Cheerful Charlie again a few minutes later. Beth and Victoria had applauded and cheered. She had wanted to stay, try to catch Charles after the show, tell him that she would like to see him again on her next half day, but the girls dragged her out of the theatre. It was late, they needed to get back to Campbell Hall.

All the way back, Elsie was lost in thought. The other girls talked about the show, how impressive it had been, how enthralling, interesting, marvellous. They found many other adjectives to describe it. Elsie could only think of one: enchanting. She did not care about the show at all anymore. The other Charlie, the one with the silly moustache and the red nose was uninteresting to her.

"Elsie, what's the matter?" Beth asked with the most cheerful voice Elsie had ever heard her use. The girl really was in a good mood for once. "Did you not like it?"

She hoped she would not blush again. Of course she had liked it, a lot to be honest not just for the same reasons as Beth and Victoria. "It was very…", she searched for a word, "… interesting." That should do.

"Only interesting? Come on! These two men were fabulous! I had so much fun!" She turned around, dancing back towards Victoria and Elsie wondered if maybe the other Charlie had the same effect on Beth as the tall one had one her.

=o=

Sleep did not come easy that night. She was still seeing his face, heard his voice. He would not leave her head at all. She never had experienced any of this before. Was this what they called having _butterflies in your stomach? _Maybe this was how she could best describe it. And after a while she even remembered why it felt a bit familiar. When Joe had put his arm around her for the first time and whispered something in her ear, she had felt almost the same. But only almost. This time it was much stronger, almost painful.

Elsie tried to cover her face with the duvet, disappear underneath it completely. She wanted to shut out the world around her for tonight, only think of him and his wonderful voice and eyes. And finally she fell asleep, dreaming about him.

The next morning was like every other day. They got up early, prepared for their daily chores, went back to their routine. Elsie had hardly time to let her mind drift away from her work. Not even during her short breaks when she had a cup of tea or a small bite to eat. Someone was always at her side, talking to her, making a joke. At the end of the day she was not only exhausted but slightly irritated as well. Beth had not stopped talking about their afternoon and Victoria also reminded her of the two men whenever she had the chance. Elsie needed to be alone, desperately. But there still was not a place in the house where she felt safe enough. And outside it was too cold at this time of the year to explore the grounds. The only place she could think of was the linen cabinet. A room at the end of the long corridor, next to the housekeeper's sitting room.

Long, high shelves full of white sheets lined the walls. There was only a small passage between them. Elsie rested her back at the wall at the end of the room and slid down to sit on the ground, her knees drawn up, arms around them. She sat there with her eyes closed and tried to calm down, concentrate on something other than him. After a while she felt better, not so tense anymore. Maybe this place would become her small refuge for a while, until spring when she would be able to look for a hidden place outside the house.

=o=

Her first Christmas felt different than any she had experienced before. Everyone at the house was so immensely busy to turn the Christmas days into a perfect experience for the family and their guests. The cook had prepared several large cakes days before Christmas Eve was even close, Mrs. Taylor was double checking the rooms and the Mr. Jenkins received two additional wine deliveries. Elsie was sent upstairs to help prepare some spare bedrooms she had never seen before, did not even know they exist. The Campbells expected guests for this special time of the year and everything had to look perfect! There was not a speck of dust left, not the tiniest crease in the bedsheets. Even fresh flowers appeared from somewhere. They scrubbed the floors, cleaned every window, hung Christmas ornaments and freshly cut fir branches.

At home their parents decorated only their main sitting room downstairs. A few branches, candles, nothing special. Elsie and her sister would help her mother with the cooking because they always had a very special dinner on Christmas Eve. Goose with roasted potatoes and the most delicious sauce Elsie had ever tasted. It was a family time where work was for once neglected. She had always enjoyed these quiet days as a child even though there were not always presents on Christmas Day. As long as they had a few peaceful days, Elsie rather appreciated those than presents her parents could not really afford.

Here, on the other hand it was all about appearance and perfection. At lunch, two days before Christmas Eve, Elsie sank into her chair at the large table in the servant's hall and longed for a break, to put her feet up and have a bite to eat. "Is it always this busy during Christmas?" She rubbed her temples.

"Always." Beth sat down next to her with an exhausted sigh. "It's my third Christmas here and it's never been a quiet time."

"At home my mother never made such a fuss." Usually Elsie would not say something like this out loud, would not even dare to think it. Still, today she felt so exhausted that she could no longer keep her thoughts to herself.

Beth laughed. "Then you can call yourself lucky! My mother had us clean the whole house every year."

=o=

Christmas Eve came and the servants finally had time for themselves. Only at dinner did the family expect their first guests so the preparations slowed down a bit. Elsie sat in the servant's hall, looking out of the window onto a landscape covered with snow. Down in the valley she could see the lights of the town, all the small houses with happy families in them. And amongst them probably also Charles Carson somewhere. She was sure he was still in town. The poster at the theatre had said that the Cheerful Charlies would stay until spring. She tried to imagine what it was like to be an artist, appear on stage every other night. Was he nervous? How did he learn all the things, the juggling, singing and dancing? Would he also celebrate Christmas? Alone or together with the other man? Maybe he had a family somewhere?

"Elsie?" Mrs. Taylor suddenly stood behind her. "You look a bit lost."

She stood up from her chair hastily, blushed, felt as if she had been caught at doing something improper. "I am sorry, Mrs. Taylor."

"It is alright. We all are a bit sentimental at Christmas." A sympathetic smile appeared on the housekeeper's face and Elsie wondered if this woman had a family somewhere she missed these days.

"Oh I am not homesick." This was the truth. Had Mrs. Taylor known why she had been sitting there, lost in thought, she would probably tell Elsie to forget about such things until she was much older, send her upstairs again to check the bedrooms once again, give her some work to distract her.

"But don't you miss your family sometimes?" The housekeeper took a chair, sat down and motioned Elsie to join her. With some hesitation, she took her seat again but was unsure what Mrs. Taylor wanted from her. The older woman always seemed to sense when something was amiss. "You haven't seen them for a while."

Elsie indeed missed her mum and her sister, not so much her father or her old life. Work at Campbell Hall most of the time kept her so busy that she did not find the time to think about home. There was no time for homesickness and she had never been an overly emotional person. What good would it do her if she sat in her room at night and cried herself to sleep over something she could not change? It had been her decision to leave her family behind in order to live a life where she had her own responsibilities. She had to be honest with Mrs. Taylor. "I do miss them sometimes. But I am fine with it. I am happy and grateful to be here, to have this job."

Mrs. Taylor's hand rested on Elsie's shoulder, gave it an affectionate squeeze. "I am glad to hear this, Elsie. Not many of the housemaids I've trained so far in my life were like you." Then she said something Elsie would never forget and which almost made her reach out and embrace the older woman. "I am proud of you. You are doing a fine job and if you keep up the good work you will one day perhaps be a housekeeper yourself."

* * *

TBC


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N this was a very emotional chapter for me to write. **

**Thank you again for the reviews! 3 they make my day.  
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He counted their week's earnings, every single penny. There was something missing, not just a small sum but an amount so conspicuous that Charles could no longer keep quiet about it. They had played five shows, all of them in front of a full, paying audience. When the theatre was that crowded, one evening brought them a profit of 1 shilling per person, which was a lot compared to what they usually earned during the summer months.

That Charles was in charge of the money had only been a recent development after Grigg had started to leave him along right after each show. "Have fun! Don't stay here when there is so much out there you can enjoy! We can do our business later." He could not remember how often he had heard these words from Charlie. Probably every day. So it was now him, who was in charge of everything whereas Grigg stayed down in the pub all night. Probably not only drinking but also having fun with the local girls. It did not bother him that much anymore. He had gotten used to it by now as long as they did not get into trouble with the police again because of Grigg. Something about this recent development was funny. Had it not been for the freedom and the independence that he had left Downton Abbey almost five years ago? And what was he doing now? He was on stage, he lived his own life, but he had to take care of his partner, tried to give his life some rules again so that he would not end up like Grigg. There was a discipline in his daily routine that almost equaled the one he grew up with. Charles never let go of his work, never really enjoyed the freedom he had so much wanted. He could go down to that pub and join Grigg, but something inside him told him not to.

With a sigh he put the money back into the small box he kept hidden inside his wardrobe. There was at least a quarter of today's income missing and they had not yet paid the weekly rent for their rooms and the changing room they always used.

=o=

Grigg was drunk. All of the time now. Whether he was on stage or _enjoying _himself after the show. Mistakes happened, things the audience did not notice at the beginning but after a while those mistakes made them look ridiculous, no longer professional. Charles tried to keep their show running, improvised, told jokes, tried to hide Grigg's pitiful state but to no avail.

"What's the matter with you?" Grigg slurred, lying rather than sitting on the sofa in their changing room one night. "Why are you so damn rigid suddenly?"

Charles took a few deep breaths which was necessary to keep his bad mood and irritation out of this conversation. "One of us has to be responsible for everything and apparently I am the only one capable of this task."

"Oh! Of course. You are always the good one. Have fun, Charles! Damn it! At least tonight!" Grigg stood up, supported his swaying body by holding on to the wall. "Come with me." He stumbled over to where Charles stood and grabbed his arm, dragging him out of the room.

At first he tried to get his arm out of Grigg's grip but then he accepted it, followed his _partner _to the pub. Maybe it was a good thing. He would finally see what he was doing every night. Perhaps it would give him some insight how to stop their rapid downfall.

=o=

"They all know us!" Grigg yelled when they entered the pub and the other men cheered at them. "We are famous!"

Indeed they were. The way they looked at Charles, grinned at him, offered him a drink the moment he entered the room might have been flattering a few weeks ago. But now, it frightened him. Was this how they were known to the people in this town? As a couple of funny drunkards? Good enough to entertain some townsfolk and otherwise useless?

"You've brought your friend today, Grigg", the bartender greeted them with a friendly smile. "The first drink is free, Mr. Carson." A glass of ale was put in front of him. Charles took it, muttering a thank you. He was not convinced yet. This was all too easy. Grigg dragged him on towards a table in the corner where they took their seats. After only a few minutes, a red-faced man joined them, putting two more glasses in front of them. Grigg drank his beer eagerly, like a glass of water or tea. Charles had not even taken a sip from his.

"Care for a game?" Something in the man's face told him that _game _did not really mean a simple game of cards he would accept under normal circumstances. He shook his head and to avoid having to give an answer, he took the first sip from his glass of ale. Grigg on the other hand, finished his beer and got up. "Of course, Charles here can join us later." A slap on his shoulder made him spill some of the drink on the table. Grigg only laughed and was escorted to a table at the other end of the pub.

Charles observed them for a while, how they all seemed to know Charlie so well, offered him more to drink, cigars, everything. When Grigg raised his hand, the bartender would bring more beer for everyone sitting at the table. Whereas Charles still had half of his first glass to finish. No wonder Grigg was never sober. They filled him up and then of course he would lose all the money he had stolen from their mutual earnings before. He was their most valuable man, the one who always had money, probably more than they earned in a month. And Grigg had always loved to be in the centre of attention.

"More drinks over here!" His voice was hardly recognizable by now. The other men around him laughed and one even helped him to drink from his beer which spilled all over his shirt and coat. Charles was disgusted. This was not what he had wanted to become. Never.

He walked over to the group. "Stop it, at once."

"Oh common Charlie boy. Go an have sum fun." Grigg tried to slap his shoulder again, but missed him and his hand landed on the back of the man sitting next to him. "Oops. Din mean t'hit ya."

"Oh it's alright Charlie. Care for another drink?" The toothless grin on his face made Charles stomach turn.

"I think he had enough!" He tried to drag Charles up to his feet but was suddenly surrounded by three other men that were even taller than him.

"We think he should stay here." One of them said, his tone of voice aggressive.

Charles gave in. There was nothing he could do. Apparently Charlie enjoyed being drunk and getting free drinks all night which he had to pay for later, without his knowledge probably. He left the pub, angry with Grigg and a bit also with himself for not being able to prevent all of this, walked the short way over to the theatre. Before he opened the door though, he decided that another night in this house, thinking about his future, trying to find a way out of this sudden nightmare, would not help him or change things. What he needed was distraction. A walk would do him good, without knowing his destination. And so he turned around and started walking, blind to all the things that surrounded him, following no particular road or path. Charles soon left the city behind him, followed a well-trodden path across a large meadow, walked along the edge of the woods, filled his lungs with the fresh night air to replace the horrid smell from the pub. This was so much better.

When he finally looked up from the road he realized that he was almost standing at the entrance to Campbell Hall. The massive building loomed in the darkness in front of him. Most of the windows dark and only a few of them illuminated. For weeks he had not thought about her. After Christmas they had been so busy, performed twice every day that he had suppressed every thought and image of her. Now it was almost springtime and he did not even know if she was still there.

=o=

Charles stood there, staring, for much too long. The grass was damp underneath his feet, the chilly spring air caused him to shiver a bit. Still he could not move from the spot but was also not drawn closer to the building. What good would it do to walk down that path, look for the servant's entrance and ask for that particular housemaid? This would only cause more trouble, especially for her. Charles was sure that the same rules that had applied at Downton Abbey were also valid here in Scotland: no suitors, male or female. Besides, she was much too young although he did not know her real age. But she had looked young, yet experienced somehow, self-confident. So different compared to all the women he had so far met during his time on the road.

He had one last look, thought one last time of her lovely face and voice before he made his way back into town. Their encounter was not meant to happen. It was an accident, a chance he was destined to let slip away.

* * *

TBC

(and because it is a nanowrimo project you'll get an update every day anyway ;))


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N this is a combined chapter which includes Charles's POV and Elsie's POV. I've made another time jump here and because there are only a few more days left of this year's nanowrimo, there'll be another one soon.**

**enjoy reading and thank you again for your wonderful reviews!**

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**1879**

They could not pay the rent for their rooms in April. Charles had wanted to but when he opened the little box where he usually kept their earnings it was empty. Only a few pennies were hidden in one corner, overlooked by the person who had taken the rest of the money. Things had not gone well during the last two months, admittedly. But there had been enough money left to at least pay for their accommodation. It seemed to be the only thing they had left by now. A roof above their heads, a place to stay, where he could hide at night.

By the beginning of March, shortly after his nightly walk to Campbell Hall, performances had to be cancelled, their audience was dwindling rapidly, having no interest anymore in their tricks, jokes, singing and dancing. He had tried to deal with everything, negotiated with the owner of the theatre, tried to cancel their contract, did shows on his own when Grigg was nowhere to be found. All efforts had been unsuccessful. They could not leave town before the contract expired at the end of the month; if they wanted to avoid getting arrested by the police. He felt lost, helpless, stranded. Moreover he had not received a letter from his mother in months and this worry, added to all the other problems he had to cope with, he could not handle for much longer.

Charles was ready to give up, forget about the independent life he had always dreamed of. He had to accept that it had been a dream indeed, a naïve one. Soon they would be thrown out of their room, back onto the streets. Grigg might not care about this. He was too busy having fun with their money, gambling, drinking, taking women into his bed at night. Charles only chance was to pay the rent from his savings, the money he had taken from their mutual earning and the one he had brought with him four and a half year ago. But would it be worth it? Staying with this man who had betrayed him just because he felt that he owed it to him?

He threw the little box into a corner, where it broke into pieces, the few pennies rolling over the floor, disappearing underneath his bed. Charles went over to his wardrobe and took out his coat, checked the pocket with the money, felt for it, tried again and then realized that there was nothing inside. Grigg had been thorough in his search, probably looked into every single pocket and then found the money his mother had sewed into his coat all those years ago. Grigg had simply ripped it open, took what had been inside.

Charles threw the garment onto the floor, kicked the door of the wardrobe hard with his foot and let his fist bang against it with such force that the pain brought tears to his eyes. He hardly ever cried, had not done so in years but now he could no longer hold his tears back. They were streaming down his face while he stood in this room he could no longer afford, blurring everything but not his anger and his helplessness.

=o=

Grigg's room was empty, clothes scattered all across the floor. In his rage, Charles caused even more chaos by overthrowing a chair and the small table. What his so called _partner _had done to him he could also do! He looked into every single pocket, under the mattress, inside the empty wardrobe. All he could find were a few pound notes. It was not much, only a fraction of what had once been his, but enough to get away from this place. Perhaps not far, but far enough. He would not stay a day longer even if it meant to breach a contract. After all, it was Grigg's signature on this damned piece of paper, not his. He had only negotiated the terms for them. Should the police arrest Charles Grigg, he did not care anymore.

Money in his hand he got back to his room where he carefully put the notes into the other inner pocket of his coat. It would not stay there for long and most certainly not when he was not in his room. He would not leave it unattended again. Charles took out the old bag from underneath his bed and began to pack his things. Slowly, mechanically even, he folded his second suit, the shirts, socks, everything he owned, which was not much. On top of it he stored his beloved books, the letters his mother had written him, his gloves and the pictures he had taken with him.

When everything was nicely stored away and he was about to put his coat and hat on, he caught his reflection in the mirror on the wall. There was no happiness in his face, eyes dark and overshadowed, he had lost weight and the once so impressive, always straight shoulders had dropped. What had happened to his dream? Why had it all gone so wrong when it had started to well?

=o=

He put on his hat, took the bag and left the room, ready to leave. Charles descended the stairs, carefully, not in a haste, when a young boy came running in through the backdoor, a telegram in his hands.

"Mr. Carson?" he panted, breathless. "Telegram for you. It's urgent."

He never received any telegram, let alone urgent ones. Without letting his bag go, he took the piece of paper from the boy and gave him some pennies, indicating that he had done a good job and could leave now. However the lad did not move from the spot. "Thank you. You can go now."

"My mum said I should wait here in case you want to send a telegram back."

His curiosity was replaced by worry all of a sudden and he opened the folded piece of paper and read the short message, written in this neat handwriting but forming a message he had not expected at all.

_Return home. Father seriously ill. Need you. Mum._

So his decision had been made for him already and there was now no question anymore where he would go. Back to his old life, his family, the familiar halls of the Abbey, back to Yorkshire.

=o=

With mixed feelings he wrote down a few words as a reply to his mother, handed the boy some money and send him away. A look at the clock in the hall told him that he would still be able to catch the train at midday and hopefully the money would be sufficient for a train ticket to Downton. He would find a way to get there, even if he had to leave the train at some point and walk the rest of the way home. Home? Was this still what it was? This place where he had always felt restricted by rules and propriety until he could no longer bear them?

The short walk over to the station felt like the longest journey he had ever made. Downton Abbey was where he had been born, where his parents lived and worked, where he grew up. Still it was not like any other home. The groom's cottage, his mother's sitting room, the room he had stayed at in the house were not their own. As servants they were given the right to live in them as long as they stayed with the family who employed them.

Returning to this place would not be easy but Charles had to go. He could not leave his mother alone with the worry about his father and her telegram had sounded urgent. Grace Carson had never tried to persuade her son to return to his old job. She had given him advice, told him to take care and inform her when there were problems. There had never been a word in her letters that hurt him. He read them with a smile on his face, every single one of them. Except this time.

"How can I help you Sir?"

His thoughts were interrupted by the stationmaster and it took him a moment to realize that he had already arrived at the starting point of his journey back. Quickly he counted the money he had kept in his pocket. "One ticket to Ripon."

The stationmaster told him a price and Charles was relieved to find out that he had indeed enough cash to pay for it. From Ripon to Downton village he would, if necessary, walk.

"The next train is due in fifteen minutes." His ticket was now the most valuable thing he owned.

=o=

A journey by train was something exceptional for him. He had been to London once and once to York but those were his only experiences in travelling by railway. He tried to adjust his eyes to the landscape that passed by his third class window. But everything was gone so quickly that he had no chance to admire it. Green hills, rivers, flocks of sheep, some houses, the occasional stop at other stations. After a while he tried to read a bit but his mind constantly drifted away from his book and back towards the day he had left Downton Abbey. Then to some childhood memories, how he had learned to play cricket with the help of the older hall boys, being instructed by the Earl's son who was much younger than them but frequently escaped from the house to play outside. Charles chuckled at this memory. Her Ladyship would never have allowed her son to play with the servants yet that was what he did until he was sent away to Eton. Another station passed by and Charles thought about the day he had been promoted to footman. He was proud at first but after a while missed the freedom he had had as a lower servant, the easy chat with the other boys or being able to leave the house to run some errands.

What would await him on his return? Would they offer him a place to stay or was there a chance for him to find a job in the village or in Ripon? He was not sure if he wanted to be a footman again or if he had a choice at all about the course of his life.

=o=

**1880**

Elsie liked her new life a lot. She earned enough money to treat herself with a new pair of gloves or a new hat once a year. On her half days she and Beth often went into town to have a look at the shop windows. Some of her earning she saved for books. Her little library was now comprised of fifteen different novels and she was proud of it. Amongst the other servants she was respected and popular for her skills and her efficiency. Mrs. Taylor often gave her work the head housemaid would usually do. But Martha was often so busy with her other tasks that she was actually glad to have someone to assist her, although Elsie was still very young compared to the 30 year old head housemaid.

Two years had passed and the encounter at the theatre was long forgotten because Joe had started to write to her. Before that, the only letters she had ever received where from her mother, sometimes one from Anne. She had never expected him to write to her, let alone hoped for it to happen one day. Especially not after she had shown no real interest in him when she was still that young farm girl at the village dance. Of course they flirted but Elsie never considered him as a suitor especially after it became obvious that she would leave her rural life to become a housemaid.

Joe had inherited his father's farm, told her about his daily life in his letters and asked for an account of her work at Campbell Hall. He could not imagine her in her fine black dress with the white apron and cap, so impeccably dressed after all the years on the farm where her dresses had only been clean in school and at Sunday. His first letter had surprised her but also made her smile. It had not taken her long to make a decision about how to react to it and she wrote her reply at the same day. Gradually they exchanged more details about their lives, not just interesting bits about their daily routine. Joe began to tell her how much he missed her company. Elsie felt flattered by this, like a young woman should be. She on the other hand let him know that all footmen were lecherous men which of course she had not meant seriously. His reply though amused and shocked her at the same time and made obvious that they did not share the same kind of humour.

_If they indeed are like you describe them, then I should probably pay you a visit and let them know that they have no chance._

The evening Elsie opened this letter and read its last sentence she had been on her feet all day, helped organizing a huge dinner, prepared several bedrooms additionally to her usual tasks. Joe's letter had been safely stored in the pocket of her apron and she had been looking forward to reading it in the evening. But this announcement was unexpected. See her? Visit her here? Male suitors were not allowed and everyone knew that she did not have a brother, had also never mentioned a cousin.

"What is it you're smiling at?" Beth asked from the other side of her room where she was getting ready for the night.

"Oh, it's a letter I received today." She quickly tucked it away, into the drawer of her bedside table.

"Is it from him again?"

Elsie knew that she could not hide such things from Beth whom she had become friends with. However, she had never shared everything Joe had mentioned in their correspondence. Some things were private. "It is", she sighed.

"You looked happy a minute ago. Why do you sound so irritated now?" Beth came over to the bed and sat down next to Elsie.

She bit her lip, looked at the other girl from the corner of her eye. "He wants to visit me."

"Oh." Although it should have been her, it was Beth who blushed.

=o=

This time it took her two days to think about what to reply. Seeing him again meant to let her old life intrude this new one, meant giving him the impression she cared for him more than a friend would do. She was not in love with him, had no interest at all in going back to life on a farm. Elsie was sure of all that but how did one put this down in writing?

She threw the third draft of her letter away, took out a new sheet of paper and started again. Half an hour later, she held a finished reply in her hands which she read twice before putting it into an envelope so that it could be posted the next day. Elsie had tried to be honest, told Joe how much she enjoyed her work here and that she never wanted to return to a life on a farm. She invited him to visit her, granted him this wish but she also gave him no indication that she wanted more than being his friend.

=o=

Nervously she twisted the letter in her hand the next afternoon. She stood already in front of the post office, was only one step away from posting it. Still, there was an uncertainty she was unable to ignore. How would he be like? What would he look like now? Would he understand what she had meant with her words? She knew that Joe had a habit of interpreting things wrong, the way he wanted them to be not in the way she had intended them to be understood. But did she have a choice? Not answering him now would probably result in another letter from him. She would again try to find the right words and take several attempts to reply to him. No, the only solution was to send this letter now and accept everything that would come about with it.

She went inside and paid the postage, saw the envelope disappear into a huge bag along with the other letters and small parcels.

On her way back to Campbell Hall she took a different way than usual, not deliberately though. She was so lost in her thoughts that she did not notice where her steps had led her. Elsie looked around at the unfamiliar houses and the large building in front of her. She stood at the entrance to the old theatre that had been closed a year ago.

Suddenly she remembered him, this tall good looking man she had met twice when she first came here. Elsie smiled at the thought of it. Whatever had happened to him? Had he left the town before the theatre was closed? She could not even remember his name. All the way back she tried to find an answer but could not remember at all.

* * *

TBC (probably on Saturday)


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N let the time travel begin :). Beware: I will do some time jumps in the next chapters because I think that I have now established their characters and also given some reasons why they are the way the are now. I hope you don't mind much and still like the story. if not: let me know. **

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His father had died the night he had arrived back at Downton Abbey. Pneumonia. The doctor had said that there was nothing he could have done to save him. Charles had at least been given the chance to say good bye to his father, held his hand while he told him about his life away from the house. There had been a smile on his face when he drew his last breath. His son had returned home.

His mother later told him that this was all William Carson had ever wished for. Grace had never let her son knew this, had kept it secret from him in her letters. She did not want Charles to feel guilty or worry too much about his father. William Carson had not spoken to his wife for a week after Charles had left Downton Abbey, this too she had kept from him. But after a while his father had realized that his own stubbornness would not bring his son back, and that it certainly was not worth ruining his marriage over this. So he had accepted it, bit by bit. His mother had read Charles's letters to him whenever she received one, left out the bits that would upset his father.

Charles was thankful for all of this, for the love and kindness his parents showed him after all, the understanding that their son had needed to find his own place in life.

=o=

"Will you leave us again?" His mother sat at the table downstairs in the small kitchen of the groom's cottage, a cup of tea in her hands, her eyes still red from crying after another night alone in her bedroom. His father was dead for two weeks now.

He wanted to give her an honest answer, tell her that he did not know what to do now. Would he stay? Start working at the house again? Truth was, he had no place to go other than this cottage. He had a basic school education but aside from this no special knowledge that qualified him for a job at a local store or as a clerk in an office in town. Charles had avoided talking about his future as long as he was not sure about it. Now he needed to give his mother an answer, the question was lying open on the table, causing an awkward silence between mother and son.

"I don't know." He could not look at her, studied the pattern on the wooden table in front of him, and drew a circle with his finger in the drops of tea that he had spilled onto it. "His Lordship certainly won't employ me again", he hesitated before he ended the sentence, "after all that's happened."

His mother's hand covered his, stopped it from moving pointlessly around the table. "Please stay here Charles."

She did not know what had happened back in Scotland, that he could not return there and he would probably never tell her because he felt like a failure, could not bear to cause her more worry.

"The young Earl has returned from Eton. They have advertised for a valet." Grace Carson made it sound like a plan, like a new chance that had been waiting for him all the while and which he had not been aware of.

=o=

Wearing his best suit, his hair combed back neatly, shoes shining, he entered the house for the first time since his return. Grace Carson led him up the servant's stairs to the library, knocked on the large door and waited for permission to enter the room. Nervously, Charles waited beside her. His eyes wandered around the room, took in the grandeur of the large hall, the thick oriental carpet on the wooden floor, the fresh flowers in fine porcelain vases. All of this looked so familiar, everything was still where it had always been. Nothing had changed here. It was him who was different now.

His mother opened the door and stepped into the room. He followed her suit. Even the smell in here was the same. Dust, old carpets, paper, and a hint of cigar smoke. His Lordship sat at the small desk, finishing a letter. Charles instinctively kept his posture straight and folded his hands behind his back. He had not done this in years, was a bit shocked that this was still in him. Normally he would have simply addressed the man now, asked him for a job. This was what Charles Carson the Cheerful Charlie would have done. The former footman waited patiently, yet nervously, to be spoken to.

Lord Grantham took his time and it had the desired effect on Charles. The longer they waited the more nervous he became. This was a ridiculous idea anyway. Him, a valet, the most trustworthy person in the household next to the butler? How would he manage to keep his past a secret? Was not there a constant threat that someone would expose him, deliberately or accidentally? After all, Grigg knew where he came from and he was an expert in telling lies. How would they know that he had not done anything improper all these years? It could bring scandal over the house. A feeling of guilt was settling in his stomach again.

"Well. Charles, I am glad you are back." He had stared out of the window while waiting and therefore jumped a bit when his Lordship finally spoke. "Your mother told me about your return and I had wondered why we haven't seen you since."

Charles cleared his throat. "Your Lordship I am very grateful that I could stay with my parents…," he paused, remembering suddenly that there was only his mother left now, "…my mother for the time being. I did not want to intrude on your hospitality."

Lord Grantham studied him closely, walked around him which only made Charles straighten his back even more out of habit. He felt uneasy in here, observed by too many prying eyes.

"There is still a footman in you." The old man observed.

"Thank you, your Lordship."

"I guess your mother has told you that my son needs a valet now that he's back home?"

He only nodded.

"I know you, Charles. You were always a hard worker. I did not know what made you leave this house but I think you belong here and therefore you will be perfect for this position." It was not a suggestion, it was an order.

=o=

The next day, Charles moved back into the house with the few belongings he still had. Valets got their own room in the servant's quarters up in the attic. When he climbed the stairs for the first time in so many years it felt as if he had never been away. Or perhaps only for a short holiday, visiting a cousin or an aunt who lived abroad. The fact that nothing had changed whereas he had indeed, was frightening somehow. To others the familiarity of the house might have a soothing and reassuring effect, Charles only felt trapped.

Breathless he arrived at the staircase that led to the men's rooms. He ascended the last few steps and searched for the only room that did not have a name plate on its door. If he was not mistaken, his new home was right next to Mr. Wilkinson's bedroom. Charles opened the door and stepped inside. A table, chair, a wooden bed frame, a chest of drawers with a mirror and a washbasin on top of it and a small wardrobe. The window opened next to the small desk. Wearily he let his bag drop to the floor next to the door and went over to sit on the bed. He buried his head in his hands, pressed the palms against his eyes to keep the tears from falling. What other chance did he have than to return to Downton Abbey? Deep inside him he knew that it had been the only solution. It was the life he had been born into. There had never been a real chance to escape it.

* * *

TBC


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N massive time jumps ahead now. Back and forth :) (starting with the next chapter).**

**Thank you for all your support so far!  
**

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**1888**

"Joe, stop it, please." Elsie was giggling and at the same time trying to sound resolute. She removed his hand from her thigh and brought a little distance between them, half and arm's length, at least! He had arrived in town two days ago after she had not seen him all summer. His regular visits over the years had changed something between them but not everything. He was still eager to court her whereas Elsie could not envision a life outside of service anymore. They had appointed her to head housemaid in spring after Beth had left the house. She was in charge now of a small group of girls younger than her and had never thought that it would so satisfy her. Thoughts about a life as a teacher she had banned completely from her mind. With her promotion, marriage, a family, children also became less meaningful. She loved her job too much and to give all of this up now was impossible and he had to understand this.

They had kissed, several times already, behind closed doors and trees, in dark corners where no one would see them. Elsie did not want anyone to think she was a woman without virtue. Their kisses were chaste because she wanted them to be. Joe tried to go further, had his hands somewhere else on her body, grabbing her bottom sometimes. So far Elsie had always managed to escape from this unwanted closeness.

Eight years has passed since his first visit, years in which Elsie had been torn between going with him and accepting his offer and ignoring his advances. She did not even know what he was to her. A lover, a suitor, an admirer, a very good friend? Good friends did not kiss in secrecy.

"I need an answer Elsie, please." He reached out to stroke her cheek with his thumb and she allowed him this small gesture. "I cannot wait forever."

Biting her lip would not help here. "Haven't I told you already? I don't want to leave service. Not now." She took his hand and held it for a while. "Besides, I am not that farm girl anymore."

"We could live a wonderful life together Elsie." He had tried this, said this so many times already. Her heart ached a bit when she rejected him once again.

"I _am_ living a wonderful life right now, Joe." Which was true.

=o=

Three months later she received a letter from Argyll written in this familiar handwriting, a bit untidy, capital letters too big, tiny E's that almost looked like I's. He informed her that he had found a nice woman, fell in love with her and would marry her as soon as possible. She had been replaced and her childhood had now officially ended. Joe had been the last connection, the last piece of home that was always there. Carefully, as if handling a valuable piece of jewellery, she folded the letter and stored it inside an old wooden box, atop of all the other correspondence she had collected over the years. Letters from her mother, her sister, from him, pressed and dried flowers Anne had sent her, a picture of her house, small trinkets, treasures she could never throw away. A door inside her fell shut and securely closed this chapter of her life. She should have felt sad or rejected but the only emotion she could find within her was relief.

Elsie changed into her more formal evening attire, the black dress with the long and heavy skirt. The family had guests tonight and she would help setting the table and preparing the fine china before the dinner service. She made sure her hair was still in place and that there were no creases in her apron. Satisfied with her looks she made her way downstairs towards the kitchen where everyone was already more than busy with the preparations.

"There you are!" Mrs. Taylor intercepted her before she even had a chance to have a look at tonight's dishes to satisfy her curiosity. An evening meal would tell you which guests to accept, how many and if they were easy to handle, difficult, rich, relatives or only business partners. "I've been looking for you."

Elsie was punctual as ever, had not taken more time than usual to change. Therefore the housekeeper's rebuke irritated her a bit. It was not like Mrs. Taylor to reprimand her in any way and it was not in Elsie's nature to be cross with the housekeeper. So she took the criticism, swallowed what she might have wanted to say in response and waited for an explanation.

"Please have someone prepare one of the servant's bedrooms. Lord Grantham brings his valet along. Mr. Jenkins has only informed me now. He did not know himself. Oh how I hate last minutes adjustments." She waved her hands, shook her head and left Elsie standing in the doorway to the kitchen.

=o=

As far as she knew the spare bedrooms upstairs were all ready and there was no need to make such a fuss. Still, she tried to find one of the younger housemaids for this task. The only problem was that they were all as busy as she was herself. Running up and down the corridors and hallways, taking care of last minute changes. She had given them their orders earlier that day and their schedule was already quiet full.

"Rose, can you do me a favour." But the younger maid only excused herself and rushed past Elsie, a pile of bed linen in her hands.

"I am sorry Elsie but I have to change the linens in the Yellow Room. Mrs. Taylor found some stains on them."

Elsie grew more and more nervous by the minute. The table needed to be prepared together with Mr. Jenkins and the footman and he also needed all hands he could get. Perhaps it was best if she had a look at the room herself, although she had already changed into her evening uniform. It would not mean a lot of work. She was quick in changing sheets and covers, and the room probably did not even require dusting, only a bit of fresh air.

=o=

The division between the men and women's bedrooms was not very strict at Campbell Hall. It was simply a long corridor with doors leading to the respective rooms. Mrs. Taylor had wanted to establish a clear separation, a door in the middle or downstairs rooms for the girls whereas the young men stayed upstairs. But Lord Campbell did not see the point in it. Elsie chuckled at the thought. Her employer did not really know what was going on between his servants. There were a few small scandals but butler and housekeeper had always managed to handle those secretly, fired the footman or maid and never spoke about it again. She had once caught out a young footman who was having his fun with one of scullery maids, outside, between the old wooden vegetable crates. They begged her to keep it a secret, which she did, but Mrs. Taylor had found out nevertheless.

All the men had their rooms at the far end of the corridor whereas the women's bedrooms where at the beginning of it. Elsie walked all the way down towards the last door on the right. Behind it lay an empty room, once used by the young ladies teacher who was no longer with them. The door opened with a noise that hurt her ears. She would take care of this later. For now it was more important to find out what needed to be done.

Elsie lit a candle that still stood alone and forgotten on the bedside table. There were no sheets on the bed and the coverlet had a dusty smell. A small table and a chest of drawers were actually covered with a thick layer of dust and the window was so dirty, it was blind. She let out a frustrated sigh. Cleaning this room would require some time and she had to inform Mr. Jenkins about this. Otherwise the old butler would get unbearable, believing again that his authority had been undermined.

=o=

Elsie was excused from dinner service with the help of Mrs. Taylor who explained the situation to the butler in such an exaggerated way, using her hands to emphasize her points, that Mr. Jenkins was glad to be rid of her. Without having to worry about dinner, Elsie had a bit more time on her hands but still a tight schedule. The valet would arrive soon and most certainly ask which of the rooms would be his for the time of the stay. She did not want him to see her in there and give the impression that she was a simple housemaid. Most valets she had made the acquaintance of where vain men, so sure of their high position in the household that they never got their hands dirty and loathed servants below them. In their hierarchy only the person they served and the butler mattered. Everyone else was to be ignored.

She busied herself with the dusty furniture first before she took care of the bed. At least she could persuade one of the kitchen maids to light a fire in the small oven for her. Now the room was slowly getting warmer and more comfortable. Two lamps spent some light, additionally to the candle next to her. When she had finished the dusting she stripped the bed of the grey and dusty linens that where still on it and took care of the fresh bedsheet. There was a song on her lips, one her mother had always hummed when she was cleaning the house. It must be some old Scottish folk tale, Elsie could not remember the words from, so she simply hummed the melody. Singing helped to quicken her work.

"Excuse me." She spun around in shock, letting the fresh pillow case drop to the floor that was still dirty and would most probably ruin the fresh linen. Elsie bit back the curse that had been on her lips and simply stared at the intruder in front of her. How dare he interrupt her! Couldn't he have knocked at least, let her know that he was there? Her angry glare at him obviously had an immediate effect when she saw him lift his hands to avert another attack from her and left the room, backwards, until he disappeared into the dimly lit corridor.

Elsie bent down to pick up the pillowcase, when she noticed that he was still there. His shadow was visible on the floor. "I can see you." She called out.

Footsteps indicated that he was approaching the room again. Elsie clutched the dirty piece of linen to her breast, suddenly a bit afraid of what might happen, and who might appear in the doorway. She had certainly never seen this man in the house before. And if this was the valet? No, she banned this thought the moment it had began to form in her mind. No valet would ever back away from her. After all she had given him the look she reserved for the younger housemaids when they did not pay attention or were not working fast enough. She was used to them being afraid of her, not valets or footmen.

A head appeared around the doorframe, dark brown hair, large nose, dark eyes and a shy smile on the lips. "I did not want to scare you." The voice. Elsie opened her mouth, closed it again, stared at him again, this time in shock. It was _him. _

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_TBC  
_


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N I have a TARDIS, I can travel back in time :)**

**Last time jump dear readers and Chelsie shippers. Promised!  
**

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**1879**

Charles got used to his new task exceedingly fast, much to his surprise and to the young Earl's. As a third footman he had never helped out as a valet before. Only the first footman sometimes took over this very important and delicate job when gentlemen travelled without their own valets. Charles knew the basics, most importantly he knew how to keep his mouth shut and how to avoid gossip. No one in the house ever asked him about his time away, except Mr. Wilkinson and the old Earl of Grantham. The other servants kept their distance. Especially the one's that did not know him and had joined them after he had left Downton Abbey five years ago. Of course there were the usual rumours, stories told in a whisper about the new valet. Some said he had been abroad, on the continent, France or Germany maybe. Others tried to convince their fellow men that Charles Carson was actually a dancer and singer. Those were the stories Charles feared most because they were true. No one knew what he had really done during these years and the way the other servants told his story, whispered it into each other's ears, made his life sounded so glamourous, so perfect. Sometimes he wanted to interrupt them, tell them the truth, that he had indeed been on the stage, had travelled the country as a dancer and singer. But then he wondered what exactly his true story was? That he had failed? That he had made a fool of himself? He had been convinced that his decision had been a good one, had wanted his life to change, had been so happy to find a way out of service. And in the end he had returned and was more tied to the house than before.

In the beginning he tried not to let his work take over his life again, avoided every contact with the other servants and kept to himself most of the time. He would read his books or take a walk through the park or the small forest that surrounded the house. Before being able to fully concentrate on his life here again, before he could admit that all of this was _meant_ to be his life he needed to understand what his past had made of him.

Soon he found out what was different compared to his old life at Downton Abbey, what had happened to him. Charles had always been punctual and carried out orders perfectly without allowing himself to be lazy or careless. No one had ever complained about his work when he was still a footman. But in reality, he had detested his job, felt like a machine that was unable to change the way in which things worked. Being late or making mistakes meant punishment so he avoided it as best as he could. Play by the rules. But the rules had then become his prison.

Now he was suddenly grateful for all the silly guidelines he had to follow. It gave him a sense of security that he had unconsciously missed all these years. He knew what to do and how to do it because there was a rule for it. Room to improvise things or letting things happen by chance was impossible. He got up every morning at the same time, had his breakfast, took care of Lord Robert, mended some things, had a small break, luncheon, changed clothes, dinner, preparing the clothes for the next day. It quickly became a well-known routine that was so unlike his time on the road. Every day they had to make sure that there was a place to perform, to earn money, to make a living. Without their performance there was no money, no food, no rooms to sleep in. Charles had left service to get rid of all the obligations. But the truth was that he soon had more responsibility than he had ever wanted, over his own life and well being which was something he could not take lightly if he wanted to survive.

Sleeping in the same room every night and waking up in it suddenly had a totally different meaning. Warm food every day and changing meals with fresh ingredients felt like the best thing on earth. It had not been his choice to return to this life but he could not complain about it anymore. He had to adapt and make the most of it, fit in somehow and learn to accept it.

=o=

Months after he had taken on the job as valet, he gave up his strategy of isolating himself from every one else. He decided to be kind and helpful to everyone else but not let people see who he truly was, what his fears and hopes were. Only his mother knew how to read his face or the small insecure gestures that sometimes slipped in while he was working.

Charles became friends with the footman, the housemaids were no longer afraid of him. He integrated himself without sticking out as someone special. The gossip about him died down and soon the other servants also stopped asking him personal questions. They could inquire about how his day was or what his opinion was about certain political matters. Charles would never reveal how he truly felt in front of others. It was better this way. No one could hurt him that way and no one would ever find out about his past. Because he was uninteresting to them.

=o=

"Are you happy here?" His mother asked one night.

Charles put down his cup of tea, focused on the brown liquid in the teacup for a moment, thinking about an answer to this difficult question. "I think I am." His eyes found his mother's. "Though I would not say I am happy, content maybe."

Grace Carson drank some of her tea, smiled at him, the way only mothers smile at you. A facial expression that told you that she knew you would answer that way. "I am glad to hear this, Charles. You see, I was not sure you would be able to fit in again." Her small hand played with the silver spoon on the saucer and Charles had to suppress the urge to reach out and take her hand in his. They were sitting in the servant's hall and he did not want the other servants to witness how close he was to his mother. He knew that she was lonely sometimes, especially at night and in the early hours of the morning when there was no one there in the bed next to her. How could he possibly leave her alone after his father's death?

"It was working here or in Ripon, or in the village. Somewhere close, mum. I did not want to leave you alone." Now he had to reach out and take her hand. He needed to do this, comfort her, let her know that he meant what he said. Charles would not disappoint her or leave her alone again. Not after all she had done. Her letters had brightened up the most dreadful days, kind words of advice and love, never judgmental. They had kept him safe, sane, and ensured that he never lost hope. "And I will never leave you again, promised."

She squeezed his hand a bit, reassuringly, knowingly. "Never promise something like that Charles. I know you mean it now but you cannot see into the future. Perhaps you find a girl one day, get married, leave Downton Abbey again."

He smiled at this. Obviously every mother wanted the same for their sons or daughters.

=o=

**1888**

"We will leave tomorrow, Carson. It will be my last visit to Inveraray before I depart for New York." Robert Crawley, Earl of Grantham, stood in front of his mirror, studying his reflection and the clothes Charles had prepared for today. The journey to Scotland was inevitably, necessary, obligatory. Not only for his Lordship but also for Charles. He did not want to go, there were too many memories connected with this place. Lord Grantham did not know about his valet's past, had no idea that this journey caused him sleepless nights and nightmares. Over and over again he tried to come up with a possible excuse he could give to avoid this trip and the possible confrontation with his past. But it was his duty to accompany the family.

"I will have everything ready by tonight, milord." Hopefully his voice sounded as calm and collected as usual. The effort it cost him to show no emotions at all although there was a battle raging inside him was unexpectedly high. Usually he was very honest with Lord Grantham but in this matter it was simply impossible.

"Good." Lord Grantham set his tie right and smiled at him in the mirror. "Are you looking forward to it? You've never been there before, have you?"

Charles clenched his fists behind his back to divert the nervousness that threatened to show, in his voice, the sweat on his forehead, his weak knees. He had to lie now, for the first time since his return, or tell the truth somehow. But at the moment he could not think of an answer that would satisfy Lord Grantham's curiosity.

"Carson?" The man turned around to face his valet. "Are you alright?"

"Certainly, milord." A small smile might help him to get out of this situation.

"So. Scotland. What do you think of it?"

To avoid looking into his employer's eyes for too long, he picked up the jacket from the bed, holding it open for Lord Grantham. The question had changed, fortunately. "I will find it very interesting travelling there, milord."

=o=

They took the train and a coach was waiting at the station for them. Charles stood on the platform amidst all the other passengers and people who were there to pick up their loved ones and friends. Everyone around him was moving whereas he could not take a single step. His Lordship had already left the train and had been welcomed by Lord Campbell. Charles was only meant to pick up their bags and follow them to the waiting coach. But he was unable to. Every single man he saw looked like Grigg. Every young girl that walked past him resembled her. Why could he not let go of his past after all these years? It was like a curse that could never be lifted from him.

"Excuse me." A man stepped on his foot, a woman almost ran into him. Suddenly he became aware that he was standing in the way, that this was not the past but the present. He had to follow Lord Grantham now and ignore everything else. They would probably never drive into town while being here and he would definitely not risk it to run an errand on his own. It was only one week and he would certainly never return to this place.

A whistle was blown and brought him back to reality and out of his daydream. Hurriedly he picked up the bags and pushed his way through the crowd towards the coach.

=o=

The sun began to set when they arrived at Inveraray Castle. Charles remembered how he had stood on the hill at the outskirts of the town, looking at this impressive building that now loomed right in front of him, silhouetted against the dark blue sky. A footman came running out of the large double entrance doors to open the coach door, helped Lord Grantham out of the cabin and then took care of their luggage.

Charles carried only one small bag with him inside the house. Butler and housekeeper welcomed them at the door with kind smiles. "You will reside in one of the servant's bedrooms upstairs." The butler, an elderly white-haired man of about sixty informed him right away. "My name is Jenkins. This is Mrs. Taylor."

He bowed slightly towards the housekeeper and held out his hand for the butler. "Thank you sir."

"This way please." Mr. Jenkins led the way towards the large hall. "The boys will take ring the luggage upstairs to Lord Grantham's room and I believe you would like to freshen up a bit before you start your work?"

With a simple nod he confirmed the butler's presumption. It would be best to relax a bit before dinner. The journey had not been a long one however he felt a bit exhausted, emotionally not physically. "I appreciate this."

"Life is a bit slower up here." The butler continued with their conversation, though one-sided. They crossed the hall and a door was opened that led to the servant's quarters. "There is no need to rush things. However, you must excuse me know. Our head housemaid cannot assist me tonight with laying the table. I am a bit in a hurry." He closed the door behind them. One staircase led upstairs, another down, probably to the kitchen. "Take these stairs all the way to the top."

=o=

Not only from the outside did this house feel larger than Downton Abbey. Once inside its size was so impressive that Charles had to stop staring with his mouth agape. Step after step he climbed the never ending staircase. For the first time today he was alone and involuntarily his thoughts began to wander, away from work and the upcoming dinner. Was she still working here? So many years had passed since their brief encounter. By now she was probably employed somewhere else as a head housemaid. Girls and young women never stayed at a house long if they wanted a career in service. He tried to remember her face, the eyes, that wonderful hair and her smile. Her image was still there, somewhere inside his head but it had faded over the years. However, he would never forget her voice with that lovely Scottish accent.

Out of breath he finally arrived at the end of the long staircase. There was a dimly lit corridor to his left and he wondered if this were the servant bedrooms. No door separated it in the middle and surely there had to be a division between the men and the women. At Downton Abbey every servant knew what would happen if they got caught on the wrong side of the door: immediate dismissal without a reference. Mr. Wilkinson was proud of the strict rules he and Grace Carson had established over the years. Charles had not yet experienced their punishment for breaking them and he never dared to. He had seen enough footmen and young, naïve housemaids leave service because of a secret and unfortunate love affair. And during his time with Charlie Grigg he knew what some of these girls now did to earn a living. He shuddered at the thought of it and took a deep breath to clear his mind from the unwanted memories.

Only one long corridor. If that was how it worked in Scotland he was fine with it. Now he had to figure out which room was his. Slowly he walked along the dark passage, doors to the left and to the right. The lamps did not spend a lot of light so he had to squint at the name tags on the doors. The women's rooms where the first he passed, followed by Mrs. Taylor's and across from it Mr. Jenkins's private bedroom. At the end of the corridor Charles caught side of an additional source of light coming from one of the rooms. Maybe this was his? He walked a bit faster but then stopped abruptly. Someone was singing quietly. A wonderful melody filled the air. Carefully he closed the distance between him and the door, peeked around the frame and saw a young housemaid preparing his bed.

"Excuse me." She turned around, startled. He had not wanted to frighten her. The pillow case landed on the floor and a second later she glared at him, angrily. This face, it was so familiar, even in the darkness of the room. Carefully he took a step back, and another one, left her alone but he would not go downstairs again.

Trying to control his beating heart and his quickened breathing he remained standing in the shadows of the corridor just behind the open door.

"I can see you." She called out suddenly, her voice not really steady. Was she afraid of him? Obviously she had not recognized him. But what had he expected? Ten years had passed since that afternoon in the theatre.

How should he look at her, talk to her, explain why he was here at all. He tried to calm down and approached the room again. "I did not want to scare you."

=o=

It was him. Elsie pressed a hand over her mouth to muffle the cry that escaped from it. So it was true, you always met people at least twice in your life if not a third time. She stood there, unable to move, talk or do anything else than stare at him, again. She shook her head repeatedly in disbelief.

"Are you alright?" Did he not remember her? He stood there in the doorway, looking so lost, unsure, a bit shy. "Do you want to sit down?"

Perhaps this was a good idea. Her legs felt a bit weak suddenly and Elsie stumbled backwards towards the bed, sat down and removed the hand from her mouth. "I am alright, thank you." Someone had taken her voice from her; it was only a hoarse whisper now. Should she tell him that they had met before, ages ago, a lifetime ago? Was it wise to remind him of the day at the theatre? He was obviously a valet now, had been a footman once if she remembered correctly. Maybe the time he spent on the stage was something he did not want to talk about? Elsie started to bite her lip, a bad habit, she knew that, but she could not control it.

"Have we met before?" This question was innocuous, better than admitting right away that she remembered him, had done so the minute she had seen his face and heard his voice.

Instead of meeting her gaze, he looked at his feet, the dirty floor beneath them. "Elsie Hughes?" It was more a question and her name sounded so different from his lips. His voice still had the same effect on her, made her nervous and unable to keep that smile hidden any longer.

"Yes. It is." If only she could remember his name now. When he still knew hers than he must have thought about her, like she had thought about him in the beginning. Recently though, he had not been on her mind at all but she had never completely forgotten him, only the name.

When he lifted his head and cautiously looked at her she suddenly remembered. "Charles Carson."

A smile appeared on his lips. "You remember me then."

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TBC

AND Thank YOU for the reviews! I wish I could reply to all of them but some are anonymous or guest reviews :(


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N we stay in 1888 now and see what will happen (you should go and read "May Day" by Onesimus if you want a story where the two fall in love before they work together at Downton Abbey - it's perfect!).**

**thank you for your wonderful reviews so far! :-*  
**

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"It was a lifetime ago." She stood up from the bed, approached him to have a closer look at this face. The room was so dark and half of his face was in the shadow. He was still so tall but did not keep his back straight like all the other tall men she knew; instead he bent down a bit when he answered her.

"It was in a different life. I am a valet now." She tried not to be too impressed by this voice but it was difficult.

"So I've assumed." He smiled at her answer.

"And you are a housemaid here still?" It was a simple question, an expected one. After all, he had seen her making the bed. Better explain what her position was right away before he believed she didn't have any ambitions. After all, he was a footman and could now proudly call himself a valet. This was a respectable job for a man his age.

"No. I am not. I was promoted to head housemaid a while ago. We were rather busy tonight and the other maids are a bit shy when it comes to cleaning these rooms. So in the end I had to do the work." She shrugged her shoulders. Charles Carson should know that although she had a senior position among the maids she did not consider herself too good for doing these kinds of jobs.

There was a smile on his face now she could not really interpret. Was he amused about what she had said? Was he, after all, one of these valets that considered housemaids to be silly girls without morals? "What is it that makes you smile?" Elsie knew this was a bit bold to ask someone she did not really know.

"You are very self-confident." This was an unexpected answer yet he was right. When she had first came here, Elsie had tried to be the perfect servant, not give her superiors any reason to criticise her. A task was handed out, she completed it without asking for the why or when though sometimes for the how when it was something she had not done before. Her opinion did not matter and she kept it to herself. As soon as she was sure that the other housemaids respected her even though she was still younger than most of them, she began to ask questions. Not impertinent ones, but when Elsie thought that a task would be dealt with faster and more efficient she suggested a different method to Mrs. Taylor. And now she was head housemaid so she could be a bit more self-confident. Even towards this man in front of her with this wonderful smile on his face.

"Well I hope you don't mind this."

They stood there, smiling at each other, not doing anything else for a moment or two. Elsie wondered what it was that fascinated her about Charles Carson and more precisely why she felt so attracted to this man. She did not mind the feeling at all but it was not wise to fall in love right now and especially not with a man like him, a colleague. They all knew that a relationship meant the end of their employment, the end of their lives in service.

=o=

"Well, I better finish this now." She gestured at the bed, the still dusty furniture and the floor. "Mr. Jenkins expects me at dinner service the latest."

Charles watched her, how she gracefully turned around and began her work again. Quick and efficiently her hands finished putting fresh linen on his bed then started cleaning the furniture. The effort she made was unnecessary. He did not mind sleeping in a room that was not perfectly clean for the four nights of his stay. But then, she had been given her orders and was used to fulfill them expertly. She was a servant like him. He knew, perhaps better than her, how easily you got used to the different tasks, the routine, your daily duties and how hard it was to neglect them or question them.

"You don't have to do this." Nevertheless he at least had to try to stop her although it also meant that she would leave him alone. And he enjoyed observing her.

She looked over her shoulder at him, gave him a bewildered glance. "I am afraid you are wrong. This room is not up to our standards and I will finish my work her."

"But I will only stay for four nights. I can do it myself." He had no idea why he felt the sudden need to argue with her. Charles was not in the right and he had to admit that he liked it when everything was in order and perfect. It calmed him, gave his work a meaning. The shoes always had to point away from the bed in an angle of 90 degrees so that his Lordship could easily slip into them. Suit, shirt, collar, cravat for the morning had to be starched and ironed in the evening so that they could air over night. Things like that he took tremendously serious. He would never allow it to be a disappointment to his employer or anyone else again.

"Mr. Carson you know as well as I that it is not about how long you will stay or that you do not care about all of this. I take my work seriously." She finished dusting the chest of drawers. "But if you promise to not tell anyone then I ignore the floor for now."

The grin with which he answered her was probably a bit too bold but no one would ever know about this encounter.

=o=

Elsie almost ran down the stairs towards the kitchen, dirty cloths in one hand and her once white apron in the other. She felt like a little girl that was keeping a big secret from her parents. He was so easy to talk to and so different to Joe who never understood when she was joking with him. The skipped the last step and jumped down from the stairs.

"Elsie, what is going on?" Mrs. Taylor's stern voice quenched her enthusiasm. "Are you done with the room? Mr. Jenkins is waiting."

She took a deep breath and kept her back straight before she smiled and answered, "Everything is ready, Mrs. Taylor. I will just change my apron." Sometimes the housekeeper was a bit too harsh, preferably when they were hosting an important dinner like tonight. Elsie knew not to take her scolding too serious and quickly found a fresh and clean apron. Still, whatever else might happen in the course of this dinner and this evening, nothing could ruin her good mood.

Slower and with more grace she ascended the stairs again and entered the large dining room where two other maids and the butler where already busy with the china and glasses. She needed no new orders this time. Elsie had done this so often that she knew what was expected of her.

While Mr. Jenkins took care of the silverware she carefully arranged the glasses, vases and the menu-cards at each place.

"Well done, Elsie." The butler inspected her work after she was done with it. "I could not have done it any better." He moved one last wineglass a bit to the left. "Did you meet Lord Grantham's valet yet?"

Elsie was a bit taken aback by this question. Why should she have met Charles Carson? Wasn't the fact that he had arrived together with one of their guests tonight more important for the butler or Lord Campbell's valet? "Yes Mr. Jenkins, as a matter of fact I did."

"I thought so." The smile on his face made her even more suspicious. She had done nothing out of the ordinary tonight, had behaved completely normal, except from that small incident at the stairs. "Mrs. Taylor told me you had a glow on your face when you came downstairs." The butler patted her shoulder gently. "Be careful my girl."

=o=

Campbell Hall was impressive. He explored the building on the search for Lord Grantham's bedroom as soon as he had unpacked his clothes. Charles was familiar with houses like these; after all, Downton Abbey was not a small mansion either, but this here was beyond what he had been able to imagine. He tried not to stare open-mouthed at the painting, the staircases, the long corridors or the huge hall. They were here for a visit and he had work to do. If he ever found this bedroom! The second corridor, third door on the left they had told him. There was no third door on the left. Charles had managed to get lost obviously. If only the rooms had names than he would maybe able to find the right one. He walked along the passage again, turned around the corner and then tried the next corridor. Here he found at least four different doors and tried his luck with the second one. A short knock, a familiar voice answering it. Hopefully he was not too late.

"Ah Carson. You found it then?" His Lordship laughed. "It took me a while to not get lost in this castle."

"Good evening, milord. Please excuse my lateness but this house is simply too big." He had to be professional now and forget about everything else. Especially forget what happened up in his room between them.

"It is indeed. Now, let's get ready for dinner."

Now he was back on familiar ground, in his routine. Undressing, handling clothes, dressing, brushing jackets, and selecting cufflinks. It set his mind at ease a bit and his thoughts did not wander back to their reunion up in the attics for a while.

"Perfect. You chose well. I'll see you after dinner then." Lord Grantham thanked him, left the room and Charles took care of the clothes now lying on the bed. He was again lost in all the familiar movements, the folding of the shirt, brushing out of the day jacket. Everything was handled with great care. However when he had finished his work he paused to think for a moment.

A few hours ago he had been afraid of this journey, of being confronted with his past. And now he was happy that he had _not_ found an excuse to avoid this journey. Only because of her, the girl he did not even know. Charles shook his head to clear it. He would talk to her and treat her like any other servant in this house. Falling in love on this trip was not impossible, it would only make his life more complicated again and he could not risk this. Not now.

* * *

TBC


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N I can not thank you enough for all the support I've so far received! I know that this is not what I usually write and I will return to my usual fanfic writing after November :). Until then: enjoy chapter 24.**

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During dinner Charles stayed in his room upstairs in the attics, trying to read a book to distract him, to keep her out of his mind. It was the only thing he could do to avoid meeting her again tonight. She would not come to his room again this evening, or any of the other three evenings he would spend here. Down in the servant's hall the footmen and housemaids were probably busy now, running in and out of it, carrying trays with food and drinks upstairs to the dining room. Usually he loved to be in the middle of this hubbub but not tonight. He turned another page in his Dickens and tried to get lost in the story. But the words became blurred in front of his eyes and they focused on the fire instead. She had lit it so that his room would be warm and welcoming. There it was again, her face, the smile. Charles forced himself to concentrate on his novel again, managed to finish this one page but not more. Frustrated he put the book aside and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. Maybe he could take a nap. Lying down on the bed he closed his eyes, to no avail. She was still there. Why was this happening, to him who had stayed away from women all these years when he was on stage? A single simple kiss now and then, but he never went further than that. He had not wanted it, not with a woman he did not love. Charles loathed the thought of satisfying only his own needs, of taking advantage of a woman for his own pleasure.

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes again, tried once more to rest. Three more nights, four more days. How could he possible ignore her all of the time? They would meet constantly, at every meal, around the house. Charles thoughts went around in circles for a while but at least this made him more and more drowsy until he finally fell asleep.

=o=

When he awoke, the fire was almost extinguished. A look at his pocket watch told him that it was now time for his own supper. He had almost missed it! Swiftly he got up, splashed some water in his face and combed his hair until it was tidy again. Sleep had rumpled it a bit and a lock continuously escaped and fell down to cover his forehead. He tried to keep it in place with an extra portion of brilliantine and then hurried downstairs.

This time he did not get lost. It was a continuous descent from the attics to the kitchen downstairs. He was a bit breathless when he arrived at the bottom of the stairs. Now he had to find the servant's hall where everyone would now sit and eat. He followed the noises, the muffled sounds of conversations towards a large hall almost in the center of the basement and was relieved when he noticed that they had not yet started eating. A few servants sat around the large table while the kitchen maids took care of the cutlery and dishes. At Downton Abbey he sat next to the housekeeper but here at Campbell Hall he chose a place at the end of the table. Far away from everyone else and most importantly, far away from her. Elsie was not yet there and Charles passed his time by observing the other servants. Another valet was sitting near the head of the table, reading a newspaper, two housemaids exchanged the latest gossip, a few hall boys ran around fetching things, downstairs everything was the same and felt very familiar to his life at Downton Abbey. Then the housekeeper entered the room and everyone rose from their seats, including him. She sat down on the same chair his mother usually occupied during their meals.

"Mr. Carson." He had not expected her to address him and he wheeled around to look at her in surprise. "I hope your room is acceptable?"

"Thank you Mrs. Taylor, it is." Her gaze was a bit intense, challenging somehow. "I shall be very comfortable in there during my stay."

"I am glad to hear this." For a moment their eye contact was interrupted when she looked down to study her hands and Charles thought that the small interrogation was over, but then she continued it. "I've heard your mother is a housekeeper at the estate where you are employed?"

He sighed; his Lordship had probably talked about him during dinner. It was not the first time that he had mentioned him in front of dinner guests. Charles could do nothing about it, he did not have the right to do so, but it embarrassed him immensely. "She is, ma'am. I grew up there."

She nodded, smiled at him and then turned her attention back to the housemaids sitting across from her. Charles turned away from her as far as he could and then noticed that Elsie Hughes stood in the doorway behind him. She had probably heard everything.

=o=

"You grew up on a estate like this?" The seat next to him was empty, every day. He should have chosen the very last chair at the table. But how could he know? However this gave Elsie the chance to sit next to him during supper. She had not planned this but when an opportunity was given, why not take it? She had never been shy, only careful when it came to men, and this particular one seemed to be different compared to the ones she had met in her life so far. "What was it like?"

Charles tried to avoid her gaze, focused on the food in front of him that he slowly cut, chewed, swallowed, before he answered. She noticed his hesitance and it amused her. This man had stood on the stages of this country and yet he was a bit shy.

"I have nothing to compare it with to be honest. My father was the head groom and I grew up in and around the stables not directly in the house." He took another bite, did not look at her at all. Usually she would have found this rude.

"Do you like horses? We only had two, one for the plough and another one for the wagon." Normally she never talked about her life on the farm. Not in front of the other servants at least, but she would never see him again so it did not matter.

For the first time since they had started eating, his head turned in her direction. "You grew up on a farm then?"

Elsie had her mouth full and only nodded.

"Here in Scotland?" He took another bite and looked down at his plate again.

"Yes, where else?" Hadn't he noticed her accent? It might not been that pronounced anymore after all the years in service where she had tried to smoothen it, but she was sure that her English was not even close to his perfect pronunciation of every single word.

"Excuse me, it was a silly question."

Elsie continued eating her meat and potatoes. The first real conversation had not been that complicated and she felt a bit more relaxed after this. She did not blush or ask silly question. He had been the one who behaved a bit nervous. It made her confident that the coming days would be unproblematic where he was concerned. They would probably not meet very often and in case they did, she could always inquire after his home and his job. Elsie would be careful, like Mr. Jenkins had told her. But she would not stay away from Charles Carson.

=o=

They did indeed not run into each other frequently. She was busy with her work when he enjoyed a few minutes of spare time, and vice versa. Only during their meals, when everybody else was also present, were they given the chance to talk. Elsie had kept her place at the end of the table the next day and was surprised that he had not taken a different seat after their first night and the rather awkward conversation. She noticed that Mrs. Taylor looked at her from time to time, observed her from the other end of the table, but Elsie never gave an occasion to be reprimanded later. She did nothing but talk to Charles Carson.

When she went to bed the second evening, exhausted from a day's work, sleep came easily and her dreams unexpectedly had only one topic: him. She saw him smile at her, offer her his arm, and then he spoke with this wonderful voice, invited her for a walk. They strolled to the nearby forest, admired the tall trees, the birds and the loneliness around them. As a servant there was hardly a moment you could spend completely on your own. Whenever she had the chance, Elsie tried to get away from the busy kitchen, took a walk, went up to her room to read. She savoured those moments, longed for them on some days. The solitude she shared with Charles Carson in her dream was something completely different, yet so much better. She was not alone, she had him for company, his strong arm to hold on to, his shoulders to support her when she rested her head against them. She felt so relaxed, so warm, so save. And then he leaned down, whispered something in her ear, and his lips were so close…

Something had fallen to the floor with a loud bang. Elsie was wide awake all of a sudden, sat up in her bed and looked around the dark room, trying to figure out where the noise had come from. The dream was still so real inside her head, she could almost feel him standing next to her. She shook her head, to chase the image away. As nice as it had been, it was not proper, not proper at all and she had to stop this. Then Elsie heard someone curse outside her bedroom and a shadow leaked through the gap under the door into the room. Without making a noise, she got up and tiptoed towards the door, opened it a crack and caught sight of him, kneeling on the floor, picking something up.

"Stupid. Stupid idea." He muttered as quietly as he could and she noticed that he was holding a shoe in his hand that had obviously fallen to the floor and caused the noise. In the other hand he held a book and a candle. Elsie could not help it and had to snort, real laughter would have woken up everyone.

"Who's there?" His head jerked around towards her door and Elsie swiftly closed it, leaned her back against it and tried to suppress her laughter and to control her quickened breath. How was she supposed to get back to sleep tonight?

=o=

Charles had enjoyed a moment outside the house, had taken his Dickens with him, a coat and a candle. The park surrounding Campbell hall seemed endless and before nightfall he had found an old, fallen tree that made a perfect, natural bench. It was so quiet out here, away from the hustle and bustle inside the house. The fresh air cleared his head and he was finally able to read a bit without her on his mind all of the time. Slowly the sun began to set on the horizon and after a while he lit the candle to continue with his novel. When it became too cold outside, he walked back towards the back door, let himself in and made his was back upstairs. It was late, so late that even the kitchen was quiet now. He passed by a large grandfather clock on his way upstairs. Half past one, much too late for him to be still up, wandering through an unfamiliar house. Charles would regret his decision in the morning when one of the kitchen maids would knock on his door to wake him, to early of course.

As soon as he reached the staircase that led to the upstairs bedrooms, he took of his shoes. They were a bit muddy and made too much noise on the wooden stairs. Balancing book and candle in one hand and the pair of shoes in the other, he climbed the stairs.

The corridor was only dimly lit and the candle had almost burnt down completely. On tiptoes he walked along the passage, step-by-step, careful to avoid additional noise. He would not want to wake Mr. Jenkins at this time of night or Mrs. Taylor! No one had to know that he had been up until now. But then the hot wax from the candle that was still burning, albeit very low, dripped on his hand. The sudden pain made him flinch and drop his shoe. He bit back a curse and tried to pick the blasted thing up. Surely he had woken at least one person by now and his guess was confirmed when he heard someone stifle a laugh behind him. Charles was not fast enough because when he turned around to see who it was, a door was closed with an almost imperceptible click.

Cautiously he approached it, the floorboards creaking a bit underneath his weight, looked at the name tag and was not at all surprised to read her name on it. He pressed his ear to the wood, listened for a moment. If he was not mistaken, she was still there, breathing quickly. Charles shook his head, amused by the little game she had played with him. At any other time he might have asked her why she had not offered her help. But not now, not in the middle of the night. It was improper enough to stand here, eavesdropping at a woman's bedroom door.

* * *

TBC


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N so this is actually the final chapter. I am not really satisfied with it. There will be a very long epilogue after this chapter. And I will probably upload it on Sunday because I have to make some changes to it.**

**enjoy reading!  
**

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He knew it had been her last night, behind that door, laughing at him. The look he gave her the next morning at breakfast spoke volumes and Elsie tried hard not to burst into laughter again.

"Did you sleep well?" she asked innocently, pouring him some fresh tea.

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye and then furrowed his brow. "You already know I did not."

Elsie opened her eyes wide. "Are you implying something here?" She was teasing him, this man she did not even really know. But the situation was too tempting.

"Can we please not talk about it now?" Finally he looked at her fully, pleading almost. "I do not want Mrs. Taylor or Mr. Jenkins to misunderstand our conversation."

Of course he was right. Their conversation could be picked up by someone sitting close to them and be reported to the housekeeper or the butler in the worst case. Elsie set down the pot of tea. "We can talk later, after luncheon perhaps?" She really should not risk her reputation in this house. Not because of him. But she very much wanted to talk to him. After all they had met twice in the past already and this third encounter was not a sheer coincidence. They could maybe become friends, although her dreams had something different in mind.

"If you wish. I see whether I can find the time."

=o=

For the first time since she had become a housemaid, Elsie hated her daily routine. Making beds, cleaning furniture, floorboards, windows. Every morning was the same. She had more responsibility since the day they had made her head housemaid and usually she enjoyed her work. It made her proud when they finished room after room, when everything was perfectly prepared for another day. Still today all she wanted was luncheon to be over and some time alone, for that anticipated talk with Charles Carson.

Eager to be one of the first at the table, she quickly made her way downstairs and almost ran into Mr. Jenkins who was on his way to the servant's hall too. "Easy, Elsie. Why are you in such a hurry? Luncheon is only ready now. You have plenty of time to eat."

The butler was a kind man but he also always knew exactly what was going on in this house, same as Mrs. Taylor. Additionally, he had the great gift, to tell if someone lied to him. He could read faces like no other person Elsie had met in her life. And he had already warned her once. "I was hoping to have some spare time after luncheon to spend on my own", was closest to the truth without lying.

Mr. Jenkins studied her intently and Elsie felt the blush that crept from her chest towards her cheeks. "Make sure to spend it on your own then. I told you once already that it is not wise to give up your career because of _someone._ You have worked too hard for it._" _

She knew that, and so far it had never been a problem at all. Elsie was ambitious, wanted to make the best of her life, wanted to be free. This had been the reason she had left her parent's farm. Some would argue that a life in service was the opposite of freedom but for Elsie it meant self-determination and respect.

"I know, Mr. Jenkins. I will keep it in mind."

=o=

He was not there. The place next to her at the table remained empty during luncheon. Elsie tried hard to hide her disappointment, suppressed the urge to look over her shoulder every time someone entered the room. It was never he. Her food tasted stale and was not worth eating. She picked at it, took a small bite now and then but her plate was still full when she left the servant's hall together with some of the other housemaids.

After all the small encounters they had had so far, the teasing, the smiles, the easy talk, how could he forget to tell her that he would not make it to luncheon today? Why did he leave her alone, ruin her day? Instead of enjoying the thirty minutes she now had for herself, she went upstairs to the ladies bedroom's to give the flower decorations a second once-over. Her steps were not as elegant as usual; she stomped up the stairs and almost slammed the baize door shut behind her. Her disappointment had turned into anger. Hot and flaming. She did not even know why. He had not made a promise, had only said he would try to find the time. But he could at least inform her instead of keeping her hopes up all morning.

Elsie opened the first bedroom door, with a bit more care, stepped inside the room and checked the flower arrangement on the sideboard. Some of the rose buds were a bit brown at the stem and the removed them from the vase, went into the next room and the next. Repeated this procedure until she came into the male corridor. They never put flowers here so there was no need for her to go into those rooms. Still, she was here now so she could as well have a look around. Perhaps he was in the room they had given to Lord Grantham, still working. Elsie hoped that he had simply forgotten the time and had no opportunity to talk to her.

"Elsie? What are doing here?" Mrs. Taylor appeared at the end of the corridor, her voice stern and piercing, allowing no arguments and especially no lies. "Who gave the orders to inspect the bedrooms here?"

Elsie drew in a sharp breath. It was not like her to break the rules, to do something out of the ordinary. And Mrs. Taylor knew this. She had the housekeeper's trust. Until now.

"No one, Mrs. Taylor." There was no point in lying, or inventing a story or a reason why she had not turned around after inspecting the women's rooms to go downstairs again.

The housekeeper was now standing in front of her, sighing deeply. "Elsie. What is wrong with you? Is it because of this valet?"

She could not deny it so she nodded, admitted it. "I was looking for him because he wasn't at luncheon. We wanted to spend the time after luncheon together, to talk." From the expression on Mrs. Taylor's face, Elsie knew that the housekeeper did not believe her.

"Talk? Why would a head housemaid want to talk to a valet?"

Elsie was telling the truth already. "We met before, twice. Years ago. And I wanted to know what he had done since then." Which was true. She hoped this was all the information Mrs. Taylor wanted to know. Admitting that Charles Carson fascinated her, that she wanted to know everything about him or at least as much as he would tell her, was out of the question.

"You should have told me. Elsie, you are not secretive, you do not enjoy gossip, why do you now cause gossip yourself?"

"I did nothing wrong." She held her back straight now, did not want to give the housekeeper the impression that she felt ashamed of her behaviour when there was nothing to be ashamed of. They had shared a few looks, a few words, nothing more.

"I know you did not." A hand was placed on her shoulder, squeezing it gently. "Mr. Carson has left half an hour before luncheon. Lord Grantham received a telegram that some business of his could not wait."

She could not breathe, the corridor started to spin, and Elsie reached out for the wall next to her to support her body. Now she would probably never see him again, never discover his story, never know what his favourite book was or his favourite season, tree, flower.

=o=

"Carson, we have to leave. Now. Can you please take care of our luggage?" Lord Grantham came upstairs after a walk outside while Charles was preparing the clothes for luncheon.

"Milord?" Why did they have to leave all of a sudden? Their last day of their stay was tomorrow and he had plans for later, the talk with Elsie, a few stolen moments with this wonderful woman. He could not simply leave her behind now.

"I received a telegram. The ship will leave Liverpool early tomorrow morning instead of the day after." His employer took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I know this is on very short notice but I have to leave for New York."

"I will take care of everything", he heard himself say and his Lordship answered something before he left the room, but Charles did not hear it. She had crossed his path twice before, they had been given a third chance by some divine providence and suddenly she was taken from him for good.

Angrily he began to take out the clothes from the wardrobe, folded them a bit too forcefully and almost tossed them into the open suitcase. A button from one of the dinner shirts ripped off, and a cufflink fell to the floor, rolled underneath the bed. He kneeled down to retrieve it, shoved it back into the little box where it was supposed to be carried in. The box landed on top of the folded shirts. He continued to act like this until only the dinner jackets were left. Exhausted he sunk down on the bed. He had to calm down, concentrate on his work and not let the anger prevail. But how? When the one good thing that had happened in his life was taken away from him. There was suddenly something in his eye that threatened to escape, to make him look like a lovestruck fool. He wiped across his face with the back of his hand, took a deep breath and carried on. Like always.

=o=

He could not find her anywhere as if she had vanished, or escaped from the bad news he had to tell. Charles even knocked on her bedroom door after he had packed his belongings. Elsie was nowhere. His last hope was to catch her on her way down from the guest bedrooms towards the kitchen, on her way to luncheon. But he had no such luck and most of all no time to wait and search any longer. The coach was already waiting outside, a footman had taken care of their suitcases, he had not even found the time to inform Mr. Jenkins, so rushed was their departure. Only Mrs. Taylor knew. Before Charles knew, he was sitting on the front seat of the coach, watching Campbell Hall disappearing behind him in the distance as they moved away from it towards the train station. Another chapter of his life was closed now and he felt miserable about it. He would certainly never see her again, his Elsie, the first and only woman he had ever felt attracted to. From now on he would only concentrate on his work, his daily routine, the rules that came with being a servant and not let his thoughts ever again escape into regions he could not control, would not allow them to be influenced again by silly dreams that would never come true.

=o=

Elsie tried again to get him out of her mind by working harder than ever before, after all this had always been the best method of distraction for her. This time however it did not have the desired effect at all. A week after his sudden departure she still thought of this small accident he had in front of her bedroom door, her silly behaviour, the smiles they shared at breakfast. What was the worst: his voice was stuck in her head like a melody that would not fade away.

She asked for additional chores, more responsibilities and ran errands that she usually delegated to other housemaids. The only effect it had was that it exhausted her so much that she did not dream of him. Alone in her bed at night she fell asleep almost immediately.

For weeks she kept up her exhausting daily schedule until Mrs. Taylor took her aside one afternoon.

"Elsie, you cannot go on like this." They were sitting in the housekeeper's parlour and Elsie had been offered a cup of tea that she declined. She was already behind with her afternoon chores and sat at the edge of the chair Mrs. Taylor had offered her, nervously wringing her hands. "No on can work so many hours a day."

She shook her head immediately. The housekeeper did not know that the work kept not only her hands but also her mind busy. She needed to do to this, otherwise she feared to collapse. "I can." Was her simple answer.

"You cannot. Have you looked in the mirror lately?" Suddenly she felt Mrs. Taylor's hand on her cold hands, covering them. It was an unusual display of affection. "You are pale and you do not eat enough."

Elsie wanted to disagree again but then remembered how dizzy she sometimes felt when she got out of bed in the mornings. And how tasteless the food had been lately. "I can do something about that."

The housekeeper did not let go of her hands. "Yes, I think you can. Tomorrow I will hire two more housemaids to assist you. And you will delegate some of your work so that you find the time to rest."

Stubbornly she shook her head again because she could not allow this. The dreams would return and she could not let them. She had always been so strong, able to suppress every unwanted emotion, to stay focused. Why had two and a half day thrown her so off balance? Nothing had happened between them.

"Is it because of him?" The question was asked with a raised eyebrow and Elsie contemplated to answer with a lie. But she had always been a bad liar, was better at hiding things than thinking of an excuse. This time she could not use this strategy however. So her only option was to nod her head and accept the scolding that was sure to follow her confession.

Mrs. Taylor took a deep breath but did not let go of Elsie's hands. "I thought so. You haven't kissed or done anything forbidden?

"I am not pregnant!" Elsie blurted out and then blushed crimson, immediately regretted her outburst. "We did nothing of that sort. We only talked."

"Then he must have impressed you when you still think of him." There was a smile on the housekeeper's face now. "Anyway, you will hand over some of your chores by tomorrow and then return to your normal duties."

* * *

TBC


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N I know it's been too long since I updated this. But I needed a break. So this is the epilogue now and it comes in several parts (I think at least 4). And all will be finished before Christmas I hope :). Enjoy reading and thank you all for your support! **

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**EPILOGUE**

Everything was different after his return to Downton Abbey. The young Earl of Grantham had married a young American, Cora Levinson. He had met his bride in New York City and brought her with him to Yorkshire. His father had arranged the marriage in the end, to secure the existence of his house, his fortune and the estate. As happy as Charles was for his employer, he also felt a bit jealous. Men like him could simply go out and find a woman, get married and start a family. He ignored the fact that it was not love that united Lord and Lady Grantham, the affection would come soon enough. It was the simple possibility that Robert Crawley did not have to ask for permission, that he would not lose his job when he courted a woman. For men like Charles, a relationship was unthinkable. Not if he wanted to keep his position at Downton Abbey. Most of the time he did not even think about this. There were important things on his mind than falling in love and getting married.

He had shut away every memory he had of her somewhere deep inside his mind, where he would not be tempted to search for her. Meticulously he had replaced everything that reminded her of him with new images. Dickens for example now did no longer mean a night on a corridor in a castle in Scotland with her hiding behind a shut door, laughing at him. It now meant reading on the bench underneath that large pine tree in the gardens of Downton Abbey. However, sometimes, at night, when he lay awake and sleep would not come, he thought of her, remembered her face and smile, could not resist the temptation.

He had become a perfect servant over the years, tried hard not to break any more rules, stayed away from everything pleasurable. Did not even join the other servants to walk down to the village during the annual fair. He was afraid to get lost in his memories again. His past would not haunt him anymore.

Three years after their journey to Scotland, and one year after young Lady Mary was born, Mr. Wilkinson died. It was a shock for the whole household. The butler had been in his mid-sixties and never complained about his health before. They all thought he would outlive them all, especially his mother who relied too much on the man.

One morning Mr. Wilkinson did not come down for his breakfast and one of the footmen was sent upstairs to fetch him. They waited patiently for his return but when he did enter the servant's hall again, they knew something else had also changed at Downton Abbey. Charles had never seen a young man run down the stairs that fast. He was white as a sheet and stammering something incomprehensible, trying to make Grace Carson understand what had happened.

Charles knew that something was wrong when his mother sank down onto her chair, covering her face with her hands and started to cry. She had never done that before, not in front of the other servants. "What's going on?" He took the footman aside and was given the answer immediately.

"Mr. Wilkinson's dead."

=o=

He advised one of the housemaids to lead her mother to her sitting room. She had to calm down, get herself under control again. Charles on the other hand went upstairs to inform Lord Grantham. They needed to act fast now.

The old man was in the dining room, together with his son. They had started with their breakfast already not minding the absence of the butler obviously. One of the footmen was there to assist them. "Carson, what's the matter?" Robert Crawley looked up from his newspaper.

"It is Mr. Wilkinson, milords. He is dead."

A spoon fell onto a saucer with a loud clatter and the young footman spilled the tea he was pouring into Edward Crawley's cup, mopping it up with a napkin, murmuring his apologies over and over again.

"Are you sure Carson?" The old Earl asked, not even taken notice of the young footman.

"Not entirely, but Ralph said he was unable to wake him and that he felt cold. I can fetch the doctor."

The two men nodded and send him out of the dining room to walk down to the village. Charles did not walk, he almost ran and arrived at the small village hospital completely out of breath.

"I am very sorry milord, but I have to confirm everyone else's suspicion, Mr. Wilkinson has passed away."

Charles had led the young doctor into the library where Robert and Edward Crawley were waiting. Instead of leaving the room, he was not a footman anymore and had nothing to do in the library, he stayed near the door, waited for the doctor to finish his explanation, observed what happened. Lady Violet was shocked, covered her mouth with her hand. He had never seen the woman react like this before. She usually was so unemotional that he often wondered how she and Lord Edward managed to stay married for so long.

It was the look on Cora Crawley's face that affected him most. She was new to their traditions, did not grow up with so many servants, butlers, underbutlers, first, second and third footmen, cooks and assistant cooks. One would have thought that she had gotten used to it by now but in contrast to the composed faces of her husband and father in law, Cora Crawley looked as if she wanted to cry. Cry for a man whom she had not really known, who had been a simple servant.

Charles had never cared much about the young American woman. For him she was his Lordship's wife, just another member of the family he served. But that small moment made him realize that as much as you tried to fit in, suppress everything that was seen as a flaw in your character, you would never entirely succeed. There would always be a different, a more private person inside you underneath all the layers of professionalism.

=o=

"Charles, I need to speak to you." His mother addressed him at dinner two days after the tragic death of Mr. Wilkinson. Her eyes were still red after sleepless night she had spent crying. He did not really understand why his mother had been so affected by the butler's death when he knew her as a strong woman who was able to cope with a crisis. Of course she had known Mr. Wilkinson for a very long time, and Charles grew up between the groom's cottage, his mother's sitting room and the butler's pantry. Mr. Wilkinson had always been there for as far back as he could remember. But that did not explain his mother's grief.

He followed her into her room and shut the door behind him quietly. She sat down at her desk, closed her eyes for a moment while Charles waited patiently for her to start the conversation.

"I knew this would happen." Her voice was very quiet, not a whisper but to soft that he almost missed what she had said. "He had asked me not to worry about the future the night before he died."

Charles remained silent, waited for his mother to continue. When she did, he was surprised by the change of tone. "Please sit down. I cannot talk to you when you look at me like this." The scolding voice she used reminded him of the time when he was a little boy and he managed to smile at her despite the sad atmosphere in the room.

"But he was never ill." He managed to say when he had finally sat down. "At least I cannot remember it."

His mother shook her head. "He had a problem with his heart. No one knew about it, except me." She took a deep breath. "He had not even told his Lordship because it never was a real problem."

"Did he say anything else?" Charles was sure there was more. His mother had not asked for this talk without having a good reason or a plan.

"He did, my boy." Grace Carson stood up and sat down next to him at the small table, covered the hand that lay on the table top with her own. "He suggested that you should follow in his steps. For him you would make a perfect butler."

Charles stared at her, speechless, did not know what to say, how to react, what to feel. The highest position a man could have in a household, offered to him? After all he had done to change his life completely? After his ridiculous escape so many years ago? He had changed, he had accepted his old and yet new life once again, had made himself comfortable with it. But he had never seen himself as a butler. "Why me?"

"Charles, can't you see it?" Now there was even a smile on his mother's face. "You have lived outside of this house for some time, yet you returned, got a higher position, earned respect. You never break the rules, you are kind yet you can be very stern when you want to, and you have a wonderful sense for order. Besides, you grew up here, no one knows the house better than you."

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TBC


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N this is the last chapter. Sorry it took me so long. My original plan was to make this even longer but then I simply wanted to finish this story therefore there are parts that I haven't written down but that are still in my head - maybe for a different story. Some might find this ending a bit disappointing. Well, you are right. But then, there is a different fanfiction called "The Beginning" that picks up where this story ends! **

**enjoy reading!  
**

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Mrs. Taylor retired three years after she and Elsie had that talk in her sitting room. She believed she was getting too old for all of this. The young girls she had to take care of, the long working hours, the many stairs. Elsie felt a bit sorry for her but could understand why she would leave the house when she still could, why there was this wish to live a bit of her life without having all the responsibility. On her last day, the old woman summoned her into her parlour once more. Elsie was not sure what she should expect, felt a bit nervous to be honest. She did not want to be treated differently than the other housemaids, although she was their superior.

She knocked and waited to be called in but Mrs. Taylor opened the door herself. "Come in Elsie and sit down please."

It was the same old chair she had sat on so many times before. And again she only sat on the edge of it, not allowing her back to touch the back of the chair. "You wanted to see me?"

The housekeeper did not smile often but tonight her face had such a happy look that Elsie was a bit confused. "Elsie, you are one of the most capable housemaids I ever worked with. I saw you grow into your role and I wanted to let you know that I think you have it in you to be a housekeeper yourself one day."

Elsie was speechless for a moment. Never before had someone pay her such an honest compliment. She knew that she did a good job, was aware that she had more responsibilities than a normal head housemaid would have, but never before had she actually considered her work to be so good. "Thank you, Mrs. Taylor." She smiled at the older woman, unsure what else to say.

"Don't be shy, Elsie. I know you are not. I would appoint you to this position but they have already found someone else and you are a still a bit to young. But you will get your chance sooner or later."

=o=

The new housekeeper was the complete opposite of the kind Mrs. Taylor. Three housemaids had to go, two kitchen maids followed. No one knew why, no one understood the drastic reduction of the staff level. They needed all these people to finish the daily tasks and the house was too big to run it with a reduced staff. Yet, the decision was made and no one, not even Mr. Jenkins questioned it. Though he knew better than the new housekeeper that Campbell Hall needed every helping hand it could get.

During her first week, Mrs. Winter left no doubt who was in charge now and who was not to be questioned. Her regiment was strict and there was no room for making mistakes or for sloppy behaviour. Everyone who could not meet Mrs. Winter's requirements had to go. Worst of all was that Lord Campbell did not see the need to replace the servants that left Campbell Hall. He welcomed the cost-cutting measures of the new housekeeper. But what did he know about the life of his servants? About their number of tasks, the workload they carried day in day out.

Elsie had to handle more and more tasks on her own and often could not finish her meals, had to hurry through breakfast every morning or missed luncheon completely. She was constantly reminded that she was a servant and not held a high position in the downstairs hierarchy. Mrs. Winter made sure of that. She treated her like any other housemaid or one of the lowest kitchen maids, made her scrub the floors again and empty the chamber pots every morning. A duty that was usually given to the kitchen maids or the younger housemaids. Suddenly her job became a unbearable burden. Everything she had previously enjoyed turned into something she hated and loathed. Every fibre of her body ached after a long day on hands and knees, walking up and down endless flights of stairs. At night she sunk into her bed and immediately fell asleep. But when she woke up the next morning she was still exhausted.

This was what life on the farm had felt like before she had left it behind. And she had sworn to herself to never return to that kind of life. But here she was now, in this house that had meant the world to her, that had become her home, the place she did not want to leave because so many memories were connected with it. Here she had found friends for the first time of her life, she had learned so many new things, had enjoyed Christmases and other seasonal festivities, had grown into a woman. And here she had first met him. This was her most important and cherished memory of all. Although three years had passed since he had so suddenly disappeared, she still remembered every detail about him. She had tried to forget him again, like she had before, but it was impossible and so she had kept him alive in her dreams. The only place in this large house no one had access to and no one would ever have access.

=o=

"Elsie!" The shrill voice reverberated from the walls of the servant's hall. Mrs. Winter always yelled for her like that when there was some particular urgent task to fulfill. She ignored the fact that she was in the middle of sorting the fresh bed linen, let the sheets drop back into the wicker basket that stood in front of her feet and instead was on her feet quickly, almost ran towards the housekeeper's sitting room. When the housekeeper wanted to see you, there was not time to loose.

Usually Elsie would have thought of a million different things that might have happened: had she forgot one of her duties? Had something not been clean enough? Had there been a problem with a younger housemaid. But today, she had a vague idea why Mrs. Winter wanted to talk to her. It would not be a pleasant meeting, that was for sure, but she was prepared, had expected her to find it out one day. So she made sure to calm down before she knocked on the door to the housekeeper's sitting room, took a deep breath and adjusted her cap and apron one last time.

They were both in the sitting room, Mr. Jenkins had joined the housekeeper, was looking at Elsie with an apologetic smile. "You wanted to see me, Mrs. Winter?" She curtseyed, although she had not done that in front of Mrs. Taylor for years.

"Close the door." The answer was short and the tone harsh.

Elsie did what she was told quickly, then turned around once again to face her two betters, her back perfectly straight, hands folded in front of her. She tried not to bite her lip, Mrs. Winter must not know how nervous she was though Mr. Jenkins probably knew anyway. She had to hide the inner turmoil, the happiness and the fear that tried to outdo one another. Elsie desperately tried to look as calm as possible, even managed to keep her hands still when she was addressed by Mrs. Winter again.

"What have you done Elizabeth?" She held a bunch of letters in her outstretched left hand. "Why did you do this behind our backs? How ungrateful!"

How Mrs. Winter had gotten hold of her private mail was a mystery to Elsie. They were addressed to Elsie Hughes, not the housekeeper directly, she had made sure of that when she had placed the advertisement in the local newspaper and the Glasgow Observer. One of the other housemaids must have gone through her things while she was busy working around the house. Elsie clenched her teeth to hold back the snappy comment she almost voiced. Why did everyone in this house betray her all of a sudden when she had always been kind, friendly and helpful?

"Placing an advertisement. Do you really believe you can do better elsewhere?" The letters landed on the floor and Elsie's gaze fell on them for a brief moment. She unclenched her hands, ready to bend down and pick them up but Mrs. Winter now yelled at her. "Look at me when I talk to you!"

She was strong, always had been. When her father had treated her like something invisible, when a teacher had not been pleased with her homework, she had stayed calm, had tried not to cry. Now the tears suddenly threatened to fall. She would not let them, forgot all precaution and bit on her lip, to feel some pain elsewhere, to distract herself somehow. "You can pick them up later. Mr. Jenkins and I have decided that it is time for you to leave this house. Obviously this was your plan anyway."

Elsie looked at the butler for the first time since she had entered the sitting room. He looked down into his lap, could not face her. He had always been a very kind person but for the new housekeeper he was too kind, not strong-willed enough. Her gaze went back to face the housekeeper once again and she waited for her to continue her tirade, to dress her down even more. But Mrs. Winter stayed silent, only stared at her.

"I wanted to hand in my notice." Her voice did not sound like her own. It was so small and quiet.

"Well, it's too late for this now. You will leave a week from now. Mr. Jenkins will write you a letter of reference. You may go now." The housekeeper stood and busied herself with the ledgers on her small desk, ignored the fact that Elsie was still in the room. Carefully Elsie knelt down to pick up her letters. They were not all replies to her advertisement. She found two private letters from her mother amongst the envelopes, one from her sister. Again, tears welled up behind her eyes and she quickly stood again and left the room as fast as she could.

=o=

The rest of the afternoon, Elsie spent in her room, behind a locked door. She did not care what the housekeeper thought of her now, if she would send someone up to fetch her, humiliate her again, give Mr. Jenkins the order to write her a bad reference. Mrs. Winter had read her private letters, had dressed her down in front of the butler, made a fool of her. Although Elsie had not replied to the three housekeepers that invited her for an interview, she knew that wherever she would go, every place was better than Campbell Hall.

She tried not to immediately throw herself on her bed to cry. It would not change the situation at all. Instead, Elsie opened the small window, stood in front of it and looked out across the grounds, towards the horizon. The fresh air calmed her down a bit but the tears nevertheless finally found their way out, ran across her cheeks. She let them fall, did not wipe them away. Soon she would leave this place forever, start another life somewhere else. If it would be a better one, a happy one, one she had dreamed of, she did not know. But there was hope because one letter was from a housekeeper at an estate called Downton Abbey and her last name was Carson. Perhaps this was a sign, fate somehow. Although the name was a very common one, it might well be that this Mrs. Carson was somehow related to Charles Carson. He had mentioned that his mother was a housekeeper. Elsie wiped away her tears and closed the window. She would write a reply to this woman now, let her know that she would accept the interview and ask for it to be held in the coming week.

=o=

She was nervous, adjusted her hat for the umpteenth time, checked her appearance in the mirror once again. Her bags were packed, the important letter from Mr. Jenkins safely stored inside her small handbag. It was time for her to leave, not only this house which had been her home for so many years, but also her country. Downton Abbey lay across the border in Yorkshire, England. She would travel there now, hope that she could start a new chapter of her life there. Mrs. Carson had replied to her letter almost immediately, told her that she should take the next available train. She had not mentioned to Elsie to bring her bags and all of her belongings, had not told her that she could start working there straightaway. So taking everything with her was a risk. But where else should she go? Tomorrow was her last day and there was nothing else for her to do, no other chance, no other place for her to go to except back to her parent's farm. And this was not an option. She would never return to that place.

Her hands inside her gloves where sweaty, everything felt too warm, too constrained: her travel coat, the hat, the shawl. She wore her Sunday best, had to make a good first impression.

A clock somewhere in the house chimed the full hour, reminded her of the little time she had left. Elsie picked up her bags and the handbag, looked around the room once more before she left it behind forever. For one last time she descended the stairs, opened the door to the servant's hall, walked along the long corridor towards the back entrance. She did not turn around, said good-bye to no one, only opened the door, closed it behind her and walked along the gravel path towards the village and the train station.

Her pace quickened with every step, she walked as fast as she could until she reached the main road and the noise of the gravel underneath her feet was replaced by the sound of her heels on the cobblestone. She wanted to look at the house once more, to turn around and have one last glimpse, but she forced herself to walk on, ignore this urge. The only possible way was the one that lay in front of her, not what was behind her.

Half an hour later she arrived at the train station, exhausted, her arms aching from carrying her bags, her feet had blisters from her fast walk. Elsie bought a ticket, no return, and waited for the train to arrive.

=o=

He knew she would arrive on the afternoon train, had read the letters his mother had received or answered. Her name had been on one of the envelopes one of the hall boys had handed him the other morning. Elsie Hughes. It had felt odd to read her handwriting, that name, on a piece of paper. So many years had passed, so much has happened. And now he would see her again. Did she know he was working here? He had never mentioned it but of course the servants at Campbell Hall must have talked about their guest, the Earl of Grantham. Gossip was everyone's favourite pastime downstairs. For a moment he had considered to ignore the letter, to not give it to his mother. There were too many memories involved when he thought of her. But he had done none of this, had handed the housekeeper all the letters from the possible candidates for the position of head housemaid and let her decide.

"Charles?" his mother stood in the doorway to his pantry. "Are you ready? The first girl will arrive soon. I expect her any minute." He closed the account book he had tried to occupy his mind with, put away his pen and smiled at Grace Carson.

"In a minute." Their meeting was inevitably. He could not run away from it, could hide nowhere. The butler had to be present when they interviewed new staff. Charles closed his eyes, tried to remember her face, her accent, her smile. Usually this was something he would do when he felt lonely at night, when he wanted her to invade his dreams. But today he wanted to prepare himself, did not want her to surprise him with that wonderful accent and that lovely smile.

He stood up, left his room and made his way over to the housekeeper's parlour. The door was open and a familiar voice answered the first question. "Ah Mr. Carson, there you are." His mother said when she saw him lingering in the doorway, unsure whether to enter the room or run away.

The woman sitting in front of the housekeeper turned around and instead of greeting him with a friendly smile, she stared at him, eyes wide, mouth agape. She was still beautiful, had not changed much and Charles could not tear his eyes away.

"Ms. Hughes, this is Mr. Carson, the butler. He will join us now." He heard his mother say. Elsie did not move, did not break eye contact. Only when Charles cleared his throat, she seemed to realize that they expected her to say something.

"Good Day Mr. Carson." There was a small smile on her face now.

"Nice to meet you Ms. Hughes." He answered and finally entered the room to take a seat next to his mother.

* * *

THE END


End file.
